The Potion of Persuasion
by fionalafleur104
Summary: Upon finding out their former Potions Master survived Nagini's attack, Harry insists on ensuring his full recovery. But forging unlikely alliances and promoting healing within the wizarding world suddenly become imperative when a new post-war threat develops. Hermione/Draco and Harry/Snape pairing. Possibly others. Rated M for a reason.
1. No Change

**Author's Note: **Original publication July 2012. Picking up this story again. Please read and review (R&R). It keeps me going. I appreciate all feedback, but don't be a meanie pants. I'm a real person. And my name is Fie. ;)

**Author's Note: **There has been some confusion, so just to reiterate: this is a story from 2012 I'm picking up again. Chapters 1-26 are from the original publication. I'm just editing them and putting them up when done. Also I'm looking for a Beta if anyone is up to it! Thanks for reading :)

**Warning: **Mature content. Reader discretion is advised.

* * *

Chapter 1 — No Change

* * *

Severus Snape had never considered himself a religious man. He'd heard the whispers behind the veil in the Department of Mysteries on more than one occasion, but the general lack of shrieking lead him to believe that would not be anywhere near his afterlife.

His father had prided himself on being a "good God-fearing man," which meant lectures of sin and hellfire on Sunday mornings and staggering around in a drunken stupor the rest of the week.

No, privately Severus Snape suspected a fresh _new_ level of hell would greet him at his final destination: lanced into the crushing core of earth with bolts of blood and fire, specially reserved for Death Eaters and people that mix wormwood essence with bicorn horn before first neutralizing the base.

What he had not expected was the dreamlike stasis he had fallen into the moment he closed his eyes in the shrieking shack. He did not feel the blood pouring from the numerous wounds that he knew would be fatal. Nagini had been given the order to kill, and the Dark Lord did not suffer incompetence.

It was in this place he made peace with leaving the world of the living behind and embraced the inevitable descent into nothingness. But nothingness did not come… just an awareness of thought that seemed to stretch for hours into days into weeks or beyond; he could not tell.

He thought about his life and love. He told himself stories. He thought about Albus and his twinkling eyes and lemony sweets. He thought about her: his beautiful Lily, to whom he had devoted a lifetime to love above all else, and her son who he had sheltered in the wake of her death.

He made peace with the fact he would never know for certain the ultimate fate of the Dark Lord or the mortal world he had left behind.

After agonizing over every decision he had ever made until even his considerable voices of self-doubt were silenced, he thought about his work. He would miss the familiar scents and quietness of an empty classroom. He would miss the feeling of potions residue building up on his hands like ink from a newspaper: a lingering testament to a hard day's work.

He remembered with amusement his one last potion that was probably still at this moment simmering in a forgotten cauldron on a forgotten burner in his forgotten quarters.

He even thought about Quidditch.

Eventually he grew wary of the oppressively inescapable awareness and concluded, of the afterlife, "Well this is boring as hell."

Shortly after that, he woke up.

* * *

The silent slumberer next to him was not what one would call traditionally handsome, but after seeing Snape's memories in the pensieve Harry had begun to see him in an entirely new light.

"He was in love with my mother," Harry began to explain to an enraptured Ron and Hermione on the cold quiet night in the shadow of the last day of battle. They were all singed and bandaged: now veterans of a brutal war. As soon as Harry heard that, by some miracle, Snape was still alive, they had all arrived at St. Mungo's just in time to see his lifeless body being floated through the hallways.

As soon as the healers declared him stable, Harry inserted himself into the bedside chair meant for family and had refused to be moved.

Ron and Hermione, who had pulled chairs into Snape's private hospital room for a conference, looked at each other in confusion. Harry sat and stared off into the distance. "Okaaay…" Ron hedged disbelievingly, but Hermione quickly shushed him.

"The memories he gave me; he knew my mother." Had he not been so worried about Snape, Harry would have perhaps continued his explanation. "But the important thing is he didn't kill Dumbledore. Well, he did, but Dumbledore made him do it."

"What?" came Hermione's breathless reply. "Harry you're not making any sense."

"Dumbledore was dying," Harry finally managed, realizing that he might be the only thing standing between Snape and Azkaban. "He had Snape kill him to secure his position with the Dark Lord," and as a reverent afterthought, "So Malfoy would not have to do it."

"I don't get it. Why was Dumbledore dying? I mean, I know he was ancient and all, but…" Ron looked pained with the effort of thinking, but Hermione was, as always, one step ahead of him.

"The ring! The horcrux he destroyed! It must have cursed him," Hermione exclaimed to Harry's nods of assent.

"Please you have to tell someone." Harry looked at his friends desperately. "Not the bit about my mum, but about Dumbledore. They need to know Snape is innocent."

"We can tell Professor McGonagall. She'll make sure the right people are informed." Hermione was already standing ready to leave.

"And do me a favor. Don't mention the memories?"

"Of course," she said softly as the pair left the room.

Harry still reeled at what he had seen in those memories: what he had seen and what he had felt.

When he had watched Dumbledore's recollections he felt like an impartial observer. He still thought his own thoughts and felt his own feelings while watching the events unfold around him.

Snape's memories, however, were laced with emotion that only seemed to build as one scene swirled into the next. Harry felt the pain of a lifetime of loneliness and unrequited love: truly felt the part of Snape that had once burned like flaming tendrils lashing in the wind fade into quiet embers and die along with her.

He recognized that his own awed devotion to Dumbledore was now accompanied by the feelings of a grateful and devout friendship that had brought back a tiny fiery flicker in Snape's otherwise despondent heart: like a freezing man clinging to the last bit of warmth from his dying fire. He then suffered the same heart wrenching agony Snape felt when he agreed to carry out the odious task that hovered over him like a storm cloud from that moment onward: he had to kill the only person who still cared about him. Even secondhand, he was crushed to a standstill by these emotions. He could not imagine how Snape could have survived with his mind intact for all these years.

_Now he has nothing._ The thought made Harry shiver. He may have lost his parents, but ever since Hogwarts he would always be blessed with friendship. The Weasleys had practically taken him in as their own son. Sure he had been miserable before, but he had never known any different. This happy thought chased his fitful mind down into an uneasy slumber.

* * *

Ron and Hermione returned the next morning looking cheerful and exhilarated. "It's like New Year's out there!" Hermione said, brushing confetti off of her cloak.

Of course people would be celebrating the downfall of the Dark Lord (again.) But St. Mungo's was still quiet and sedate.

"Did you tell McGonagall?" was all he wanted to know.

"Yes." She had brought him tea and a bit of breakfast, and Harry suddenly realized he was famished.

"Thanks," he said before tucking in.

What do the healers say?" Hermione asked while carefully contemplating Snape's quiet form.

"No change. They countered Nagini's venom and replaced the blood he lost. They've run loads of tests, but they really aren't sure what has him like… this." Harry waved his hand vaguely in the air over the form of the somnolent potions master.

The curly haired witch got that "thinking" look on her face, but she said nothing. He was saved from having to continue when the door to Snape's room opened to a familiar white-blonde figure.

"Malfoy."

"Potter."

Ron bristled in his chair, clearly resisting the urge to whip out his wand.

"Come to get your wand again?" Harry tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. For all of his posing, in the end Harry knew Malfoy had saved his life—all of their lives. But the debt was repaid in kind, and now their bitter childhood rivalry could properly mature into a bitter adulthood rivalry.

"No, actually I came to see Professor Snape."

"—You… oh, right."

"But now that you mention it. I don't think—"

"Just take it," Harry said with finality, whipping out Malfoy's wand and holding it out to him, handle first, in resolute withdrawal. Ollivander had said the wand had changed its allegiance, and Harry was beginning to feel quite comfortable with it. He was not, however, a thief.

Malfoy hesitated, looking first down at the wand, then back up at Harry. He reached out his hand as if reaching towards the business end of a Blast-Ended Skrewt. His delicate fingers curled around the handle, and Harry dropped his hold on it. Instead of pulling back, Malfoy's face fell. "I don't think this is mine anymore," he said somberly, and passed the wand back to Harry. They just stared at each other a moment before they put the matter to close with a slight nod of their heads.

"What are you all even doing here?" Malfoy looked genuinely confused.

"I could ask you the same thing," Harry said.

"He was my teacher."

"He was mine too."

"You didn't even like him!"

"I didn't like you either!"

"He was my mentor, and… he doesn't really have any family?" Malfoy hazarded.

"Oh." Harry nodded his head, and followed Malfoy's gaze down to the hospital bed. "He doesn't really have anyone." The room grew silent, as four appraising faces looked with pity upon the motionless man.

"So really, how is he?" Malfoy asked.

"We should be getting an update any minute actually. They ran more tests this morning."

"You do know he _killed_ _Dumbledore_, right?" Malfoy spoke like he might be explaining something to a very small child or exceptionally dim troll.

"Technically assisted suicide, and yeah, I was there," Harry said, but Malfoy's request for clarification was cut short as a man in green robes entered the room holding a clipboard.

"And how is our patient feeling today?" the man asked Snape cheerfully. Healer Andrell's habit of talking to his comatose patients might have worried Harry had he not seen him save half a dozen lives in the last day alone. Every time he ventured out to visit the loo or find a drink of water the man was covered in blood, working furiously on war casualties as they began to filter in.

His three companions had not witnessed such events, so, as it was, they exchanged uncomfortable glances.

"No change," Harry said.

"Very well then. Let's have a look." Andrell waved a diagnostic wand in Snape's general direction.

Harry relaxed visibly when the wand did not make sounds or change color. Harry had learnt to associate that with a "bad thing."

"It's as I suspected." Andrell paused to write something on his clipboard before looking up and announcing, "No change," before checking the heavy bandages around Snape's neck. "I'll have someone come to change these. If you wouldn't mind—" He gestured at the door.

"Is that it?" Malfoy blustered indignantly. "'No change?' There's not a potion or something you can give him to… wake him up or something?"

"He will wake when his body and mind are ready, and it is ill advisable to do so prematurely," the healer explained. "And you are? We only allow family to see patients," the man said, irritation tinging his voice. "...and close friends," he added with a gracious look at Harry.

Harry had not felt it prudent to mention his hate-hate relationship with the former potions master.

"He's... a family friend," Harry explained quickly. "Healer Andrell this is Draco Malfoy." The two nodded at each other.

"Charmed I'm sure. Well, Mr. Malfoy as you may be aware your friend has sustained a significant trauma, and his body is healing. I assure you he is receiving all of the potions he should, but what he needs most is time. I have no reason to believe he will not awaken by himself within a few days, a week at most." A nurse walked in to help change the bandages, and the healer gently herded them out the door with pleasantries.

When he let them in ten minutes later, Draco's face paled at the amount of blood soaked into the bandages the nurse was discreetly discarding.

"Now are there any other concerns I may address?" he asked as more people appeared at the door: Kingsley Shacklebolt, flanked by two stern looking men that were wearing the same cut of black robe with an insignia Harry did not recognize in the upper left corner.

Hermione gasped at them, and Andrell grew agitated again: "I really must insist no more visitors!"

Draco stood immediately upon their entering, and Ron straightened up, sensing the growing tension in the room.

"We're here on business," Shacklebolt said.

"With whom, might I ask?" Andrell asked.

"Snape."

"Well as you can see _Professor_ Snape is a bit under the weather at the moment. Perhaps you should conduct your business another day." The healer nodded as he spoke, as if agreeing with himself wholeheartedly.

"I'm afraid it can't wait. Professor Snape is wanted—" but where he was wanted Harry did not find out, as yet another guest entered the room in a swirl of robes.

"Shacklebolt! Wait just a moment!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed.

Andrell threw his hands in the air. "No one listen to me; I'm just the doctor!"

"Mr. Potter I've tried to explain. Perhaps you can help?" she appealed to him. Harry was beginning to grow nervous. Why did everyone seem so angry?

"I know what you said, Minerva, but his guilt or innocence must be decided in court once we have all of the information."

"No! You don't understand!" Hermione shouted as she too stood up, suddenly looking alarmed.

"He is quite ill," Healer Andrell reasserted himself.

"We have medical facilities of our own," one of the men with Shacklebolt said.

"I really must insist he _cannot_ be moved." The healer sounded more and more desperate as he realized he was losing control of the situation. Harry glanced at Ron who shrugged his shoulders. Malfoy looked paler than usual.

"I'm sorry, Healer, but we have the warrant here. I must bring Professor Snape to Azkaban to await his trial."

The words hit Harry like an anvil to the chest. He jumped from his chair, imposing himself between the bed and the three men at the entrance, while pulling out his wand in one fluid motion. "Over my dead body you will!" he shouted angrily.

All movement and breathing in the room immediately ceased as everyone looked at Harry with wide eyes, and most with fear. Malfoy looked relieved. "Too. Many. People..." Andrell huffed out and drew his palms to his forehead.

Shacklebolt took an involuntary step backwards. "Harry the Law clearly states—"

"There is no law without a government to back it up. And they all got themselves killed by being blithering idiots if you'll recall. Who even has the authority to—?"

"The Minister."

"Is dead."

"Fudge has returned in the interim."

"Oh good, Commandant Blithering Idiot!"

"Just wait a minute Harry. I understand—"

"No, _you_ don't understand!" Harry did not lower his wand.

"ALL OF YOU _QUIET_!" Hermione bellowed suddenly in her best stop-a-Grawp-in-full-cry voice, and it was so. "Right, now the law also states that the healer has ultimate say in transport and release of his patients, so until Andrell says so, _Professor_ Snape is not going anywhere. Post a guard at the door if you have to." Hermione paused briefly to curtail Harry's protest with a pointed look. "And maybe, given the information we have, you should go back and ask Fudge if he is really, really… _really_ sure this is what he wants to do."

The two guards looked at Shacklebolt, who was focused intently on the business end of Harry's wand. "I'd say… that we may very well do that," the man finally conceded.

Andrell let out a deep breath from the dark corner of the room he had tucked himself into.

Shacklebolt and the guards left, backing out of the room uneasily then turning to walk down the hall without a word. Harry was relieved when neither of the guards were assigned to stay at Snape's door.

Professor McGonagall looked, as always, possibly constipated when she spoke. "I'm sorry Potter. With everything that's happened, the Ministry is trying to exude some semblance of order."

Harry snorted.

"I'll leave you all now, but do call on me if I can be of further assistance," she said with an uneasy glance at her former colleague.

"Perhaps we should all let Professor Snape rest," Malfoy hesitated, glancing at a clearly still agitated Harry.

"I'm not going anywhere," Harry stated firmly.

Andrell's gaze fell on Malfoy, evidently looking happy to explain something to someone that might listen to him. "Harry has suggested, and I agree, that the patient would benefit from having someone here should he wake up, to… explain everything that has happened and assure him—"

"He's wasn't nursed back to health just to face a dementor's kiss," Malfoy stated his grim realization. "I understand. I can stay."

Harry began shaking his head, but Hermione cut off his next words. "Harry you've been here nearly thirty-six hours. At least go home and freshen up."

She did have a point. He'd actually died for a bit in these clothes.

"Alright. But I'll be back later. Please look after him," he said to Malfoy, and received the boy's silent ascent.


	2. Answers in the Pensieve

**Author's Note: **Thanks for the R&R! :)

**Warning: **Mature content. Reader discretion is advised.

* * *

Chapter 2 – Answers in the Pensieve

* * *

For the next week Harry stayed at Snape's bedside. When he went home to rest or change, Malfoy or Ron and Hermione took up his vigil. At Harry's request, Hermione brought Malfoy a Dumbledore's Army Galleon so he could contact them quickly and discreetly if the Ministry came knocking while they were gone.

The week passed without incident and without any change in Snape's condition. Healer Andrell grew more and more concerned. "I don't understand it. There is just _no change_." Andrell demonstratively waved the wand over Snape. "His wounds have closed but haven't healed, but also haven't gotten infected. It's like… his body is here, but he is on vacation."

"I hope it's somewhere warm and sunny," Ron said.

"Brain damage?" Hermione asked with concern.

"No, no… I would have detected that. You said you were all with him when he was attacked?"

The trio exchanged glances. They had divulged the essence of the attack so that the man could properly treat Snape, but Harry was not sure how much or how little to tell the rest of the world about their ordeal. "Well sort of."

"We were in the next room, but when we went in he was still conscious," Hermione supplied.

"And as far as you know, nothing unusual happened after you spoke with him?"

"You mean like him dying and showing up later alive?" Ron said with exasperation.

"What exactly do you mean by unusual?" Harry asked.

"Anything… magical?" Andrell looked pained, as if grasping at straws that were biting him back.

"He gave us some memories," Harry said, "Right before he died—or whatever."

"He gave them to all of you?"

"To me." Harry sounded overly proud of this fact, even to his own ears. Too late. "He gave them to me."

"Hmm. Well that is not terribly out of the ordinary. It doesn't explain his condition, at least not alone." Andrell pursed his lips as he thought.

"Healer, do you think it would be alright if we put them back?" Hermione ventured.

"It couldn't hurt. It would be good if your Professor Snape doesn't wake up with gaping holes in his memory, at the very least." Andrell was moving to the door. "If you'll excuse me, I have some reading to do in the Medical Library." He bowed his way out.

"They're still in Dumbledore's pensieve."

"We can go and get them, Harry." Hermione offered. "Professor McGonagall will give us access."

"Alright thanks."

"Is there anything else you need?" Hermione touched his shoulder, and he smiled at her ever-present and heartfelt concern.

"No I'm fine, thanks."

Ron and Hermione stepped outside, not wasting a moment as Harry heard the distinct _pop_ that meant they had apparated to Hogsmeade.

Harry sat back in the overstuffed chair. He figured it would take them about an hour to get to the castle and back to somewhere they could apparate, so he picked up the copy of _The Daily Prophet_ Hermione had brought him.

He was relieved to not be staring at a moving picture of himself on the front cover for the first time in a week. Instead, there was the headline, "Hogwarts to Reopen, Hire Muggle Stonemasons," accompanied by a picture of the staff, a stern but proud looking Professor McGonagall in the lead, in front of the castle. There was even a peeved looking Filch shuffling bits of rubble about, periodically picking them up and turning them over in his hands while muttering what were probably curses.

A quick perusal of the article told Harry that the school wanted to assess where each student was in their magical education, graduate those they could, and make accommodations for an extra full school next year.

_Of course. We're British. We soldier on_.

Harry wondered if Snape would go back to teaching. Slughorn was still amongst the faculty pictured, so perhaps he would have his coveted DADA position after all. Now that Voldemort was dead the job couldn't possibly still be cursed. Hopefully.

Harry wondered then if moving out of the dungeons might not do Snape some good. At that thought, his vision shifted peculiarly. It felt like when he had melded minds with Voldemort, except not painful, and less like the vision was forced into his mind and more like it was already there.

He had been picturing the door to Snape's quarters, and then suddenly it looked different. It was the same door, but the vision was clearer somehow, like he was seeing more details. The door swung open and he was moving forward now, through the entryway and into a sitting room. The vision, or whatever it was, did not stop there. He turned left and came to another door which opened to what could only be Snape's private potions lab.

The detail with which he saw a place he had never been before was disconcerting, as was the vision itself as it focused on an exquisite gold cauldron set off to the side on a table. The burner must have been lit under it, because the potion inside was bubbling serenely, and he could even smell the most delicate hint of black licorice.

Upon seeing that cauldron, and the contents of it, Harry suddenly felt the most crisply clear desire he had ever felt in his life. What he was supposed to be desiring he was not sure, but as the vision ended he noted to himself that he was sure that was not in the memories Snape had given him. "Oh that's not good," Harry observed.

A moment later, Harry heard a loud _pop_ and Ron and Hermione came in. Hermione produced a small stoppered vial from her infamous beaded purse. "We didn't look," she reassured him while handing it over.

"Thanks," he said for both himself and Snape, then paused, looking at the vial thoughtfully, then down at the head of black hair. "I have no idea how to put this back in," Harry conceded.

"Here," Hermione reached out her hand, and he passed the vial right back to her. She pointed her wand at the glass whose cork promptly popped off. "_Memoria Restiturum_," she said and flicked her wand in the general direction of Snape's head. The ghostly silk strand of memory floated out of the vial and towards Snape.

"Thanks," he said once again, resting his head in his hands.

"They've really affected you," Hermione stated, "his memories."

Harry looked up to her concerned face. "I'll be fine, Hermione."

"You always say that."

"And I'm always fine." He tried to sound cheerful at their banter, but she did not look convinced. Whatever her reply, it was cut off as the silky memory strand failed to settle in Snape's head, but instead rebounded and flew towards Harry, hitting him with a silent sparkle.

Hermione gasped, and Ron looked perplexed.

"Did you see that too?" Harry asked, just to be sure.

"Yeah, mate. Never seen that before." Ron said.

"Oh that's not good."

Both of the men looked at Hermione, knowing she must have some sort of explanation. She looked slightly more pensive than bewildered, which Harry took as a good sign.

"Harry..." Hermione hesitated. "Do you remember saying something to Snape, just after he passed out?" Both Harry and Ron stared at her.

"No, I didn't say anything," Harry said.

"Well I wasn't sure at the time, but it's the only thing that makes sense. I think you said something… a kind of a spell."

"A _kind_ of a spell?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"Well it was very quiet, I wasn't even sure you had said anything, but it sounded… ritualistic."

"How could I have cast a spell and not know it?"

"Yeah and how could you speak another language and not know it," Ron pointed out. "Remember that one, mate?"

"That's just it. I think you were speaking Parseltongue," she said, and her pensive face quickly turned resolute. "Harry, I think we should look at your memories from that night. We might find something that explains Professor Snape's condition." Both men, though doubtful, realized she was almost always right and should probably just listen to her in the first place, and, as such, nodded their agreement.

Harry went down the hall to floo Malfoy. Willingly sticking his head anywhere in the Malfoy residence was not something he looked forward to, but he didn't want to startle him by warming the galleon.

"Malfoy Manor," Harry enunciated clearly and stuck his head into the purple blaze of light that formed.

"Coming," a woman's voice greeted him. She put down what looked to be embroidery and slowly approached the grate. "Harry?" the face of Narcissa Malfoy went from porcelain beauty to concern in a heartbeat. "Is Professor Snape alright?"

"Mrs. Malfoy! Yes he's just the same. I, er…" Harry had not talked to her since the forest. He began to feel awkward and out of place, but for once the aristocratic grace of a Malfoy came to his rescue.

"I'll go and get Draco," she turned and left.

He craned his head around, taking in his surroundings while he waited. He appeared to be in a sitting room, with several Elizabethan era couches and chairs facing towards the fireplace. Their light floral print was in sharp contrast to the deeply colored wooden paneling along all four walls and the grim tapestries that hung above them. The one just to his left depicted a particularly gruesome scene of a stag being torn apart by a group of dogs. Professor Trelawney would be predicting his imminent death right about now.

"Potter? What's wrong?" Draco sounded alarmed.

"Nothing!" He quickly reassured him. "I just needed to step out for an hour or so and was wondering if you could sit with Snape."

"Oh." Draco relaxed visibly. "Of course. I'll be there in just a moment."

"Great, thanks." Harry said and withdrew his head from the fireplace as fast as humanly possible.

"He's coming," Harry said, as Ron and Hermione looked askance.

"Alright. You should probably take out your memory here," Hermione said. "Just in case."

"In case of what?"

"Just in case," Hermione's smile was reassuring, and Harry decided she was just being overly cautious. After all, half dead and wandless, Snape had cried his memories out. How hard could it be?

"In case you get overzealous and take out your whole mind," Ron said with a snort.

"Shush Ron," Hermione said firmly, while reaching into her beaded bag to pull out an empty vial.

"That can't really happen, can it?" Harry sounded meek even to his own ears.

"Of course not. Now it's very simple. Just think very hard about that night. Don't worry about trying to remember all the details. Your mind will do that for you. Just think of the event. How you were feeling, what you smelled, was it hot, cold? Was it quiet?"

"You were there."

"Yes but everyone perceives things differently," she entreated. "This has to be totally _your_ recollection. Think hard about where you want the memory to begin and end. When you are ready, place your wand to your temple and say '_Memoria Excerpo_.'"

Harry decided to start the memory when they were walking down to the shack and end it after they were far from the building, just for good measure. "_Memoria Excerpo_," He said, and pulled his wand away from his temple. It felt and sounded like cold water was running through pipes in his head. Harry shivered, but felt immensely self-satisfied when he saw a silvery strand clinging to his wand. He brought it to the tip of the vial and pushed it in.

"Taking a trip down memory lane?" Malfoy drawled as he sauntered into the room.

"Something like that." Harry was oddly reassured by Malfoy sounding more like his sanctimonious self.

"We're hoping to find something to help Professor Snape," Hermione interjected. "We're just going to Hogwarts so we shouldn't be gone more than an hour or two." The trio started to leave the room.

"If you need a pensive," Draco called to their retreating backs, "you can use mine." The three of them turned in unison, and then looked at each other.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea." Harry hesitated. "Your dad trying to kill me that one time and all. Oh and that other time. And then there was the time—"

"My father—" Malfoy swallowed, "is not at home. He's awaiting his... _trial_." He said the word like he'd just tasted something foul.

"But he didn't even fight in the last battle," Hermione sounded genuinely confused, and Malfoy fidgeted uncomfortably.

"For aiding and abetting. The ministry has been sweeping up anyone that had anything to do with Voldemort—willingly or not—and taking them to Azkaban."

This was news to Harry. Even Ron and Hermione, who had set foot in the outside world for more than an hour at a time, looked troubled.

"They're not taking any chances this time. Vertaserum for everyone." Malfoy looked somber, and Harry had a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Mr. Ollivander?"

"He's there too."

"Great. We defeat Voldemort and become the monsters ourselves," Harry said.

Malfoy just shrugged. "Weren't we always?"

Harry thought of the Machiavellian regime the ministry had become in his fifth year at Hogwarts, and that stupendous bitch Umbridge. "Fair point."

"And anyway, I can have it brought here. Wikket!"

Harry had only a moment to wonder what a wikket was when a house elf popped into existence next to Malfoy.

"Go and fetch my pensive and bring it to me," Malfoy commanded, though not unkindly.

Harry saw Hermione bristle with indignation out of the corner of his eye. "Please?" she said.

"Please what?"

"'Go and fetch my pensive and bring it to me,' _please_," Hermione said.

Malfoy looked at her like she had sprouted a second head.

The house elf popped out of existence, and popped back just a moment later carrying a silver tray with a shimmering liquid in it. Wikket set it to hovering in the middle of the room.

"That will be all for now."

Wikket bowed her way out of the room and apparated as soon as she was in the hall.

"Thank you!" Hermione had called after her.

The three of them stood uncertainly around the silver tray hovering in the middle of the room. Hermione's questioning look to Harry was met with a shrug, so she upended the vial into the silvery substance. All three began to bend down to put their noses in but were stopped when Draco burst out laughing. "You can just stick your finger in or something. It makes it a lot easier."

Hermione glared at him, but still the trio aborted their motion and stuck a finger into the gelatinous goo. The last thing Harry saw before that familiar disorienting swirling feeling was Draco step up and follow suit. _That weasel_!

Harry closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, willing the transfer of his consciousness to the memory to hurry along.

"You weasel!" Harry blurted out as soon as they had landed in his memory, but Malfoy was just laughing.

"That was easier than I thought."

"You had no right!"

"Well, it's the only way anyone will find out what you three did that night, isn't it? Trick you into telling them?"

"We have good reason for keeping our secrets, _for now_," Harry said.

"Oh? And what are those?"

"Out of respect for Professor Snape." Hermione's face was stern, but her authoritative air was punctured at that moment as memory-Ron, Harry, and Hermione walked through her. She paid them no notice, continuing to lecture at Malfoy. "We feel it's best to leave it up to him exactly how much to tell everyone, and when. He laid his life on the line more than anyone. It's the least we can do."

Draco didn't have a reply to that, but the smug look was gone from his face. At least he was genuinely contemplating what she had said.

"Let's just go." Harry was getting impatient. "We may need his help to fix Snape anyway, and I'm sure he will keep Snape's confidence. Right _Malfoy_?"

Malfoy looked like he might say something, but quickly shut his mouth and nodded.

They all headed toward the shrieking shack. Malfoy was practically bouncing on his heels. "On an adventure with the Golden Trio, just wait until I tell my friends," he said in mock excitation. Hermione hit him on the shoulder.

Since Harry's memory couldn't show what exactly was happening in the next room, they were forced to crowd into their hiding spot once they entered the decrepit building. "Ouch, Ron that was my foot!" said memory Hermione.

"Ouch, Ron that was my foot!" said real Hermione, as she had her foot stepped on again.

Finally Harry went in to see Snape in his memory, and the group followed closely. The scene progressed. Nothing out of his recollection happened. Harry was glad to see Malfoy looked a bit peaky staring at all of the blood on the floor and the dying man looking alone and hopeless.

"Glad to be on our adventure now, Malfoy?"

"Shhh!" Hermione admonished.

_'You have your mother's eyes,'_ the echo of the once powerful potions master said before closing his eyes. In the memory, Ron and Hermione had gotten up to leave, but this Hermione was staring at the pair on the floor with rapt attention.

"_Animus Illicio_," Harry's memory said, just above a whisper, and waved his wand over the now lifeless body.

"What the hell?" Harry said in confusion as memory Hermione briefly glanced backwards, but she too was soon out the door and all four personages were violently extracted from the shrieking shack. They landed back in Snape's hospital room with a thud.

"I knew it!" Hermione said, always the first to recover.

Harry foundered. "What the hell?" was all he could get out.

"What the hell?" Ron agreed.

"Harry what did you say?" Hermione was, as always, exhilarated by the hunt for clues, whose trail had just warmed up.

"'What the hell?'" Harry supplied helpfully.

"No I mean what did you say to Snape?"

"You were there Hermione," he began to answer but stopped himself, recalling the characteristic hissing noises that colored his speech. He must have been speaking in Parseltongue. "Oh right. It sounded like _Animus Illicio_. Does that make sense to you?"

"_Animus_ sounds like the word for soul and I think _Illicio_ means entice. To entice the soul?" she was already pulling out her Latin dictionary to work out the subtleties in each word. Why did Latin have to be such a complicated language?

"It means to _house_ the _thinking_ soul," Malfoy said from near the doorway. They had forgotten he was there and now turned to look at him. "But that's ridiculous. One person can't house another person's soul!" Malfoy laughed at the very idea. Ron laughed along nervously, and Hermione attempted to join him. Harry, however, was looking at Snape with a deadly calm. It took Malfoy a moment to realize no one else was actually amused. "What, seriously?"

* * *

**Author's Note:** The description of what Harry calls the "sitting room" is my description of the drawing room in Hardwick Hall, which served as Malfoy Manor's exterior in the Deathly Hallows movies. The tapestry he describes is also there and depicts the death of Actaeon, who had invoked the wrath of Artemis and is transformed into a stag to be ripped apart by wolves.


	3. An Unexpected Sanctuary

**Author's Note: **Thanks for the R&R! =)

**Warning: **Mature content. Reader discretion is advised.

* * *

Chapter 3 – An Unexpected Sanctuary

* * *

"It means to _house_ the _thinking_ soul," Malfoy said from near the doorway. They had forgotten he was there and now turned to look at him. "But that's ridiculous. One person can't house another person's soul!" Malfoy laughed at the very idea. Ron laughed along nervously, and Hermione attempted to join him. Harry, however, was looking at Snape with a deadly calm. It took Malfoy a moment to realize no one else was actually amused. "What, seriously?"

"We've heard of it happening," Hermione said cagily, squeezing Harry's shoulder in a gesture of support. "Malfoy, I need your help."

"Huh?"

"I need to find out more about the Dark Mark, and the magic contained in it. I have a few pet theories, but nothing concrete."

"The magic contained in it?" Malfoy said while glancing at his sweater-clad left arm.

"Surely you all didn't believe it was just an over-glorified tattoo?" All three men adopted guilty faces indicating that, yes, that is exactly what they had thought. "Well, given Professor Snape's condition I don't want to run any tests on him, but since we have a real live Death Eater willing and able to help us find an answer I can think of no better solution."

"Run tests?" Malfoy sounded faint.

Hermione grew impatient. "Or I could just cut it out of your arm if you prefer."

"Oh, that won't be necessary." Malfoy subconsciously took a few steps back from her.

"Fine. But we'll need a place to work. I was thinking Grimmauld Place."

"We should work at my house," Malfoy said. Ron raised an eyebrow, but Hermione just laughed.

"Seriously? Are you sure I won't spontaneously combust if I set foot in there, like the devil in a church?" Hermione flung her hands out and made an exploding noise.

"Very funny Granger. We have a library to rival Hogwarts' with an extensive Dark Arts collection, loads of room to work, and all the peace and quiet you could ever hope for. Not to mention a house elf with field medic qualifications. Just in case."

"Alright!" _An unpaid house elf with field medic qualifications you git._ "You had me at 'a library to rival Hogwarts'.'" The most delighted smile crossed Malfoy's face then, which Hermione took as a bad omen. "Ron's coming."

The smile left Malfoy's face. "Right," he said, much like a man resigned to a task of shoveling mud all day.

"We should leave right away. Healer Andrell said there's no way to know how long until Professor Snape's wounds get infected." She looked at Harry. "I'm assuming you want to—"

"Yeah, I'll stay here. Let me know if you find anything out."

Ron, Hermione, and Malfoy all took the lift to the first floor waiting room. It was packed with harried looking families and screaming babies. Hermione was surprised to see a queue had formed to use the floo, and a second fireplace had been activated to separate incoming traffic.

Malfoy was receiving thinly veiled death glares from various witches and wizards around the room. Hermione was offended; murdering Malfoy with her mind was her job, after all. She tried to shield him from view as much as possible (which was exactly not at all, as he was excessively tall and violently blonde) until it was their turn at the fireplace.

Hermione stepped out of the chimney in Malfoy Manor, shaking her robes to rid them of soot.

"Welcome to my humble abode." Malfoy smiled with pride. Hermione couldn't begrudge him that, it was a lovely home.

"Humble indeed," Ron huffed.

"Lovely sitting room you have here." The witch looked around at the beautifully detailed tapestries.

"Yeah, if you like sitting with a stick up your ass," Ron mumbled.

"You're funny. Technically it's a drawing room." Malfoy waited with his hands in his pockets while she took in the surroundings.

"I don't see any easels," Ron observed keenly.

"It comes from the term 'withdrawing room,' as in 'let's with_draw_ here for the evening and do girl stuff.' It's my mother's room."

"Girls can draw."

"Indeed. Shall we?" Malfoy gestured out the room's wide entrance.

They went through a dark corridor and up a grandiose staircase. The great hallway was decorated similarly to the drawing room. Hermione was relieved there were no screaming paintings or house elves calling her a mudblood. But, then, Malfoy could do that all by himself.

The second door on the left was the library. Hermione's breath caught. The Malfoy's library was huge. It had to have well over twice as many books as Hogwarts' library, and, while the stacks at Hogwarts had to crowd together to save space, this library had a huge amount of open space. The left and right walls were covered with books from floor to ceiling, spotted with the occasional window, and the massive stacks were set back slightly with a dozen large tables and chairs in the space in front of them. The room was over two stories tall and had a cathedral ceiling. Hermione had not believed in love at first sight until now.

"Like it?" Malfoy's voice was enthusiastic and overly proud.

"Oh yes."

"It's yours."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, 'Is that yours?'"

Hermione looked where Malfoy was pointing. It couldn't be! She hurried over to a table near the center of the room and picked up the notebook that was lying there. It had been a gift from Professor McGonagall that came with the time turner. "_In case you need to order your thoughts. Many who time travel find it useful, if not imperative_," she had said.

It was bound in beautiful lime-green leather, and had a magnetic clasp on the front. Hermione had used the book well, and it never seemed to run out of pages. Apparently it was fireproof too, as she thought it was lost to the fires that razed Gryffindor tower. "I thought this was destroyed! How—?"

"I really have the most brilliant house elves. They are so skilled at logistics it borders on precognition." Again pride crept into his voice. Having annoyed her so much at Hogwarts, she felt she at least now knew where it was coming from. It helped his case that he sounded like a proud father at that particular moment. Malfoy grew uneasy when Hermione just kept staring at him with wide eyes. "I hope you don't feel it's an intrusion. I assure you they were just trying to help."

"Please you must let me thank them!" she finally managed.

Malfoy snorted. "Granger, for the love of god, not every house elf is like Dobby! Sure my dad was an ass, but—" Hermione frowned at him. Ron came to stand near her to show support. "Alright, alright. You can if you want to. But I don't recommend it."

"What are you on about?" Ron said indignantly.

Malfoy was quiet a moment in thought. "You can... if you want, but... it will probably make them uncomfortable. They are _incredibly_ shy. It's just in their nature. Imagine the shyest person you know, giving them an award for something they've done, and then shoving them up on stage and making them give an acceptance speech. It's not much of a reward, is it?"

"Then what _do_ you do to thank them? Surely there must be something."

"Well most house elves like to collect things. I believe Wikket is the one who brought your stuff here. You met her earlier. She collects keychains."

"Keychains?" Hermione asked doubtfully.

"Hey don't ask me I just work here. We have one that collects metal tags off those ridiculous muggle vehicles!"

Hermione looked at Ron who grew red but didn't say anything. His dad collected license plates, too.

"He has them from all over the world, even one from each state in the US I'm told— except, er… Hawaii. Yeah, that's it."

"Alright then I'll get her a keychain." Hermione had to admit she was a bit touched that Malfoy knew so much about his house elves. "Thank you," she added as an afterthought.

"Don't mention it. Now, where do you want to get started?"

Hermione thought for a moment. "Let me start by running a few tests on your Mark." Hermione saw Ron make a knife-across-the-throat gesture out of the corner of her eye. Draco fidgeted nervously. "It won't hurt a bit I promise."

The tall blonde gritted his teeth as he pulled his sweater over his head. Honestly, it was nearly summertime; why was he wearing a sweater? He undid the button at his left wrist and pulled the sleeve of his pristine white shirt up, revealing his Dark Mark. The fidgeting grew worse.

Hermione stepped closer to Malfoy, who was looking furiously around the room, at the floor, the ceiling, the book stacks, out the window: anywhere but her. "Seriously Malfoy, I won't hurt you," she said, and rubbed her thumb up and down his mark while examining it. The gesture became surprisingly intimate as the soft pad of her thumb ghosted his white skin.

His gaze dropped to his feet and he said quietly, almost a whisper, "I know. I trust you." His impossibly soft skin was incredibly hot, and he briefly turned grey eyes intense with despair on her before looking back at the floor.

Hermione could feel the panic radiating off of him in waves and felt his heart thumping through even her hesitant touch. She was not sure she could properly concentrate with him in this condition. "Ron can you go see if they have a copy of _Secrets of the Darkest Art_? I want to check on something."

That got Malfoy's attention. "_Secrets of the Darkest Art_? Are you sure you want to be seen in the company of that book?" He was smirking-almost-smiling now and growing exponentially more still as Ron retreated.

"It's a long story. Try to _relax_." Hermione put a bit of magic behind the last word. She had first learned to do that when Grawp picked her up in the Forbidden Forest. At the time it was a matter of survival, and she had reacted on instinct. Gradually she learned she could emphasize the meaning of certain words or phrases this way and that, to make something slightly easier. She he called it her "special" voice. She had been trying to learn more about such an ability. Unfortunately there was virtually no literature on the matter, which led her to believe it might be considered a Dark Art. But how could it be if she was using it to help people... to relax, for instance?

Hermione shook her head to clear it and focused on the matter at hand.

"Ready then?" She asked.

Malfoy nodded, and she sent a pulse spell towards the Dark Mark. It bounced off and returned to her wand, only to shoot out again. It would identify and catalog each spell contained in the object – in this case the Mark – one pulse at a time. Hermione was more wary than surprised when her spell pulsed ninety-seven times before stopping. She was going to have to decode all of that. "All done."

"That's it?"

"Yup. Now I just need to interpret the results and find the spells I'm looking for, if they exist."

"What exactly did you do?" Malfoy quickly pulled down his sleeve and donned his thrice-be-damned sweater.

"Well I used a spell to sort of ping you... like a computer."

"A com-what-er?"

"Er… like a bat uses echolocation. It sends a signal and interprets what's in front of it based on what it receives back. A bit more complicated, but that's the general idea," Hermione said.

"I've never heard of a spell like that before."

"I haven't been able to find any evidence of anyone doing it before," Hermione said dismissively, "but the Dark Mark is truly a unique creation."

Malfoy stared at her. Blink. Blink. Blink. "Hermione that's brilliant."

Hermione felt the heat of her blush and cursed how easily it came. "Well I had loads of inspiration with the networking utility, and sonar in submarines, and of course bats have been doing it for the gods know how many millions of years. And did you know dolphins can identify a target as small as a fish half a mile away using echolocation?"

She blushed yet again as her mother's words came to mind: "_When we are paid a compliment, the polite thing to say is 'thank you.'_"

"Erm... I mean... thank you."

Malfoy had been listening quietly during her word diarrhea, quite amused. "Don't mention it."

Ron slammed a book on the table they were near, sending dust flying everywhere. Hermione coughed, and she and Ron sat down. "What do you want with that book anyway? How do you even know it exists?" Malfoy asked curiously. Hermione and Ron exchanged glances.

"To answer your second question," Hermione said while digging into her beaded bag, "I've already got one." She pulled out her copy and un-shrunk it, laying the two books side by side. They looked identical, and Malfoy was giving her a look she could not read.

"To answer your first question, I want to compare mine to yours."

Ron started snickering.

"Compare the books, Ronald! These were made before type set was invented, so these had to be copied manually and there were slight variations between books. Sometimes whole parts of books were left out if the person transcribing it, or the person that commissioned the transcription, didn't think it was relevant or useful."

"You have your own copy, so I can only assume you know what this book is about. Do you really think Professor Snape's been splitting his soul?"

"Not splitting. That alone would not explain his symptoms. Anyway, us talking isn't going to do him any good right now."

Malfoy tried not to be too offended that he had been kicked out of his own library. "I'll leave you two to it then," he said with a parting glare at Ron, and sauntered out of the room.

"Well he didn't have to leave. I just need some quiet," Hermione said to Ron, who could not have agreed less.

"Right, what's better than being in a dragon's lair alone? I know! Being in a dragon's lair _with the bloody dragon_!"

"Malfoy is trying to help us Ronald, just relax or I won't be able to get any work done," Hermione said impatiently.

Ron stood up, pushing his chair back and towered over her. "He was schmoozing you!"

Hermione sighed. _Here we go again._ "Don't be ridiculous. I'm a filthy muggle-born remember?"

"Maybe, but I know schmoozing when I see it!"

Hermione hated jealousy. It was a monstrously ugly trait. It started wars and ended friendships and she wanted no part of it.

"Shut up! You're just jealous!" she huffed, and continued on before Ron could speak. "Jealousy is an archaic chemical reaction left over from the days when men would bludgeon their chosen mate over the head and drag them back to their cave. It has no place in a civilized society. I'm not telling you not to feel jealous: everyone does. I'm saying, when you do feel jealous, you need to approach the situation with calm, logic and _let it go._"

Ron was genuinely thinking about what she was saying, and his chest had un-puffed a bit. He also hadn't resorted to beating on it ape style, so that was a good sign. She felt it was important he agree with her thoughts on this before their relationship progressed any further. "So _get_ over it, or _go_ away!"

Ron went from normalish-looking to red faced all over again. Hermione sighed inwardly. He was about to bolt. His mouth was still opening and closing like he wanted to say something, but she knew him. He was about to turn tail and abandon her for a second time. "Be that way then!" he said, and left the room.

He would probably be back, and she hoped he would. She really did love him, but she was not going to play the jealousy game for the rest of her life.

Hermione sighed and set about comparing the two books. Finding what she was looking for was easier than she had thought it would be. It was right in the index. She had been right about a chapter being missing, which explained certain references that didn't make sense in Dumbledore's copy of the book.

The chapter was called "On the Transference of the Intact Soul." She quickly flipped to it and began reading. What she found surprised her.

The first part was comparing and contrasting transferring the entire soul versus splitting the soul to form a horcrux. For one, transferring an entire soul did not require murder. Furthermore, the book spoke of it as if it was—if not common, an accepted practice at the time of its writing.

This chapter also mentioned that having a split soul would not prevent one's wounds from fully healing, as in the case of entire soul transference. This was the reference Hermione thought she had read elsewhere in the book. This had to be what explained Professor Snape's condition. But how had it happened? And more importantly, how could she undo it?

She re-read the chapter a few times and compared the rest of the books, reviewing her knowledge of horcruxes at the same time. At some point, a platter with various sliced fruits, crackers, and cheeses had appeared next to her.

She ate gingerly at first. But, when time went on and she didn't drop dead, she found she was quite hungry. When she was done eating, the platter magically disappeared, just like at Hogwarts.

Hermione decided she had gleaned all of the information she could from this chapter, having taken extensive notes. Hermione decided that if entire soul transference was a common practice at one time, there must be other books on it.

She got up, grabbing Malfoy's copy of _Secrets of the Darkest Art_, and pushed her chair back, its legs scraping on the worn wooden floor.

She heard a loud _pop_ behind her, and a high pitched, slightly wavering voice. "Please let me do that for Miss."

Most of the sentence was drowned out by Hermione's startled scream. It echoed around all four walls of the giant room, suddenly making her feel very small and alone. When she turned around, Wikket was standing there, her head down. She held out her tiny arms, and Hermione was still too startled to do anything but hand the book over. "Does Miss need anything else?"

"Do you… have anything… on intact soul transference?" she sputtered.

"Right away, Miss."

"Are you alright?" At last a voice she recognized: she turned to see Malfoy walking towards her. He was out of breath; he must have run.

"Oh fine, Wikket just startled me. Not used to having house elves pop up around me all the time." Hermione was embarrassed, then embarrassed at her own embarrassment.

"Sorry about that. I'll speak with her," he said grimly.

"No please don't! She just wanted to help me!" Hermione looked alarmed.

"Calm down. I wasn't going to bludgeon her to death or anything. Just ask her to apparate where you could see her. What do you think I am, my father?" Malfoy asked.

"Erm, well…"

"Thanks a lot. Where has she gone to anyway?"

Hermione looked towards the stacks. "She went to go find me some books."

"I think she's taken a particular liking to you. Make sure you say thank you." Malfoy's mischievous smile looked less diabolical now, but no less confusing.

"Very funny."

"No seriously. I thought about what you said, and I think a simple 'thanks' would not be poorly received. Just do it quietly and not in front of other people."

Hermione nodded. "Okay. I can do that. _Thanks_," she whispered to him.

"I meant the house elves!" he said with consternation. It was amazing that Malfoy didn't get debilitating tension headaches.

"I know! I know! I'm just kidding. Remember how we talked about relaxing?"

"Right. Well I'll let you get back to your work."

"Wait!" Hermione didn't like the prospect of being alone in the library again. He stepped closer to her when she didn't say anything else. "I know you're not your father. And I know we've all grown up since school and the war. But I have to ask... why did you take the Dark Mark?"

Malfoy sighed, and looked for a moment like he was far, far away. Hermione was worried he would not speak, but then he sat down. She took a seat across from him and laid her hands delicately on the table.

"The short, short version is 'I was scared.'"

That made sense. Voldemort ruled through fear, as he was incapable of ruling through love. Those were the only two options. Except, of course, to rule through a bit of both, as all great leaders did. Hermione nodded once to show she understood and encourage him to go on.

This seemed to encourage Malfoy as he looked less withdrawn when he continued. "The not so short version is I was picking winners and losers. I didn't want to die. I didn't want my mum to die. I thought Voldemort would win; he was so… _vicious_." Malfoy spoke the word with spite and awe. "By the time the Dark Lord asked me to join his inner circle, well— no one says no to Voldemort. I was a coward. I'm not proud of it, but I'm not going to deny it."

"You were a child."

"Barely. And why are you trying to assuage my guilt?"

Why was she trying to assuage his guilt? He was looking at her as if expecting an answer. "What's done is done. You made the right decision in the end."

"My mum made the right decision in the end. I didn't stay. I didn't help. We all just left." Draco sighed and looked uncharacteristically defeated.

"Well you're helping now." Hermione asserted. She didn't need him wallowing. "So let's focus on that, and take it one day at a time, okay?"

Draco was still looking at the table, painfully squeezing one hand with the other. She hesitated one moment before reaching over to put her hand on his. He stopped fidgeting and looked at her. "Okay," he agreed, but his voice box only managed to produce a crackled whisper.

She snatched away her hand as Wikket returned with a tower of books precariously balanced in her little arms. Hermione got up and started taking them off the top, laying them out on the table. Malfoy did the same, and soon the literature was organized in front of her.

There were eight books in total, each one looking more ancient than the last. Glancing at the titles, four looked to be on healing, three looked to be on the Dark Arts, and one had the easily recognizable bindings characteristic to law books. Malfoy came to sit next to her so he could see the titles properly. "Will Miss need anything else right now?"

Hermione's heart melted a bit at the house elf's sweet cadence. "No this is perfect. Thank you, Wikket."

Moving slowly, so as if to not startle Hermione again, Wikket continuously nodded and bowed as she backed out of the giant room before apparating.

Hermione was mortified. "What have I done?"

"Don't worry about it. You'll both get more comfortable with each other. Now what are we looking for?"

Hermione smiled at him, glad he wasn't leaving, and trying to decide if that was an act of mercy or an act of desperation. "Information on transferring a person's entire soul."

"You really think that's what happened to Professor Snape?"

"Yes I do," she said simply and waited for him to object, but he did not. "But the lives of two people I care about are at stake. Before I do anything I'm going to be damn sure."

Malfoy nodded at that. "How can I help?"

Hermione wanted to start with the oldest book first, so she had Malfoy help her put them in order by publication date. The four medicinal books turned out to be the oldest; the books on the Dark Arts were the newest, and the law books were interspersed in between.

It seemed like the practice had been deemed inappropriate at some point along the line. Hermione began to think of her "special" voice and whether or not it would be looked down upon now. Maybe her companion would know more.

Sitting next to him, a guest in his home, she felt wrong calling him Malfoy. That was his father, and the name brought terrible memories. She could not however, bring herself to use 'Draco.' The name sounded excessively pretentious every time it was spoken. "Drake?" She said, hoping he wouldn't laugh at her.

He just looked up from his reading like nothing unusual had happened. Hermione relaxed marginally. "What makes something a Dark Art?"

Draco sat back in his chair. "Well," he said, "killing is bad."

"You know I actually figured that one out already, _ferret_," she said without malice, a playful light in her eye.

"Just covering all the bases, _mudblood_," he was smiling widely while looking at her obliquely.

"You know you're just making yourself sound ignorant when you say that. Blood has very little to do with it. The ability to attract and manipulate magical energy is written in DNA, not blood. It's a recessive trait in an amazingly simple inheritance mechanism with chromosomal aberrations, such as a 9P-22q translocation, accounting for magic showing up in a small percentage of people with none in their lineage. Didn't you know? Furthermore, all of our cells, except our reproductive cells, contain mostly identical copies of our DNA. So why not discriminate based on liver cells, or nerve cells? If you're going to insult me, at least get it right. The proper term would be 'mudDNA.'"

Watching Draco's face contort during her monologue meant even she was smiling by the end of it. He was the first to break: a sharp exhale of breath and he looked like he had swallowed something sour. She couldn't help but laugh at his face, and they were soon both laughing in earnest.

Their laughter echoed throughout the library as her screams had shortly before.

Once Hermione could breathe again, she started wiping away the tears in her eyes with her sleeve. Draco handed her a handkerchief. Of course he would have handkerchiefs. It was white with a cursive letter "M" embroidered on it.

"MudDNA. Got it. My mistake. Feel better?" Malfoy said, looking far more relaxed.

"Much, thank you." She cleared her throat. "Now, where were we?"

"Soul stealing."

"I'm not entirely sure it was stealing," she said while pulling the first book towards her. She looked at the index where she ran into her first hurdle. "This is in German."

"It happens," Malfoy said while resting his head on his hand, studying her.

Hermione ignored him. She knew a few translation spells she could use in a pinch, but in a delicate situation like this she really would prefer a proper translation. "I'll need someone to read this for me."

"Kapitel Eins. Einleitung."

"I meant read and translate!"

"Oh you wanted it in English?" Malfoy managed to maintain an airy tone while smirking at her. He looked through the index which was two pages long, and had several subdivisions within each chapter. "Yes, here. There is a section on what they call 'Seelensammlung.' Roughly, 'soul reaping.'"

Hermione was nervous about what they would find as Draco flipped the delicate pages.

"Here we go. There's a story about a Sensenmann—a Grim Reaper, like in the tale of the Deathly Hallows," Draco said casually, oblivious to the weight of his words.

Hermione was now fully alert and staring intently at him. "_A_ Grim Reaper? You mean there's more than one?" Hermione asked.

"Well of course there's more than one. People drop dead all the time. What do you think they are, Santa Claus? Well, it reports the story as a factual event, if you can believe that." Draco spoke bemusedly until he looked up to catch the expression on her face. "But... something tells me you do. So, it tells the story of a Grim Reaper who went to take a suffering soul away before he had to endure any more misery. The man's healer, who also happened to be his lover, begged the Grim Reaper not to take him. So inspiring were his pleas and so strong was their love that the Grim Reaper granted the Healer's request, instead showing him how to house his lover's soul until he could heal his body.

"The healer followed the instructions, and was able to save his love. He passed on the information to a select few in the medical community and the information was eventually recorded in this book. And they all lived happily ever after, except for the Reaper as he got sacked for dereliction of duty." Draco said, looking at Hermione, who was vigorously taking notes. "I made up that last part."

Hermione stopped writing for a moment and look at him with a wry smile. "I could hardly tell. I don't quite understand though. How did taking out his soul save him? Wouldn't he be better off with it intact?"

Draco bit his lower lip, as Hermione had noticed he always did when he was thinking. "It doesn't say specifically in here. But from what information there is, and what I've been taught to believe, the Grim Reapers take a person's thinking soul to prevent it from feeling a slow agonizing death. In their absence, I believe that the soul would leave the body of its own accord: once it could no longer handle the pain, or it was Called. This would not necessary coincide with the time at which the meat and bones of the body was incapable of sustaining life. It's usually assumed this gap in time would be minutes, hours at most. Still long enough to save someone, but Professor Snape has been comatose for a week."

Hermione digested the information. "That is true, but he has also been in a modern medical facility the whole time receiving potions and staying hydrated. He was also, I'm assuming, quite healthy before the incident?"

Draco shrugged.

Also, Harry had been near him almost constantly, and given how the horcruxes had called to each other, it's possible that proximity helped Snape's condition.

"You keep saying 'the _thinking_ soul.' What specifically does that mean?" she asked.

"Well—again, I'm going on conjecture here, but the thinking soul seems to refer to the entirety of one's psyche: thinking, feeling, and sensing. It's what we would take with us to the afterlife. If one's soul is damaged or divided, only one part can be the thinking soul at a given time. For most people, their 'soul' and 'thinking soul' are one in the same, but in the case of someone that has made a horcrux," Draco waved inclusively at _Secrets of the Darkest Art_, "only one bit could be the thinking soul at a given time. In other words there can never be more than one of you, even if you do split your soul."

She sat in the chair contemplating everything he had just said and nervously biting her fingernails, fully aware of his intense gaze. Draco resisted the urge to smack her hand away from her mouth. "Hermione, why were you researching horcruxes before?"

Hermione had been waiting for that question ever since Draco indicated he was familiar with _Secrets of the Darkest Art_. She stopped biting her nails, and looked into his gray eyes. "_Tell me the truth_," she said in her "special" voice. She hated to feel manipulative, but this was not just her secret to tell. "Are you going to tell anyone?"

"Not if you don't want me to."

"I don't want you to."

He nodded his agreement.

The light in the library had dimmed as afternoon passed into evening. Sconces around the vast room had wide pillar candles in them flickering to life.

"Voldemort was creating horcruxes."

Malfoy's lips parted slightly, and he sat back in his chair. "In the plural? You mean he made more than one?"

"He made seven."

Malfoy exhaled sharply, looking like someone had just punched him in the stomach. "No wonder he was insane."

Hermione nodded. "Dumbledore found out about them, and had reason to believe he had made seven. 'The most powerful number in magic,' he had said. We knew that if any of them survived, even if Harry killed Voldemort—"

"He'd just keep coming back," Malfoy finished for her, nodding. "So is that what you three have been up to this year?"

"Yes, but Harry had unknowingly destroyed the first horcrux some time ago. Dumbledore destroyed another that cursed him; that's why he was dying." Hermione carefully watched his face, but all it showed was curiosity.

"Drake, I don't know how to say this." By now she doubted Draco was putting on a front, and realized that hearing some of the things his father had done would probably hurt him. Well, they had hurt Ron and Harry and countless others. He could deal with it.

"Just say it." Draco said; his stormy eyes brought to mind the image of a puppy lost in the rain.

"The first horcrux Harry destroyed was Tom Riddle's diary in our second year. It made it into Ginny Weasley's school books, and she began writing in it. It was put there by the person in whose care Voldemort had placed it before he came across Lily Evans... That person was your father."

She was relieved that Draco's face showed no signs of this knowledge, but his evident pain gnawed at her heart. He just closed his eyes, and clenched his jaw tightly. Unmoving, they sat like that as the minutes ticked on. She felt tears come to her eyes. "Please say something."

Draco finally opened his eyes, but seeing her just made him more upset. He got up and pushed his chair back, tipping it over. He turned and stalked away, but Hermione was thankful when he stopped a few tables from her. His left hand was in his pocket: his right hand worrying at his hair. His shoes whispered along the wood floor as he paced.

"He lied to me," Draco began slowly. Hermione watched him, folding her hands in her lap, her legs crossed at her ankles. "He always said he acted to protect the family name, which is bad enough." Draco grew more agitated as he spoke, and sparks of errant magic began to flit through the air. It would have been beautiful, were it not born of such great distress. "Voldemort was gone, nearly dead, and he tried to get him back. He lied to me about _everything_!" He screamed, kicking a nearby chair across the room.

Hermione felt like time slowed as she watched the path of the chair, but she still started when it shattered at the furthest wall. She looked out the window there, noticing it had started to rain. Thick drops of water slanted down all of the windows, and the howling wind ushered out the fading evening, leaving only darkness in its stead.

Draco turned then, focusing in on her intensely. She had to strain to hear his furious voice from across the room. "He was worse than Bellatrix," Draco bit out every word. "He knew what he was getting himself into. At least she never pretended not to." He started walking towards her, "And you—" She tensed at the tone of anger. "After all they did to you. After all _I_ did to you. How can... how can you be crying for me?"

Hermione only then became aware of a few warm tears laboriously making their way down her face. She did not know what to say, so she said nothing.

Draco methodically closed the distance between them. He turned her chair towards him and got on his knees in front of her, searching her eyes—for what she did not know.

Ever so gently, he took her left hand in his right, and began slowly pushing up her soft silk sleeve. Hermione's heart was racing, but her breath was calm. Her head felt fuzzy, but she was acutely aware of his wool sweater tickling her legs where her skirt didn't cover them. Oddly enough, she didn't want to stop him.

Draco stopped moving and she saw he was looking at where his Aunt Bellatrix had carved the word "Mudblood" into her arm. She had healed it as best she could, but she would have that scar for the rest of her life. Draco was the first person, besides her and the woman that gave it to her, to see it. The feeling of incredible intimacy was welcome to her, almost like she had been craving it.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking at her now. "I'm so sorry." There was profound sadness in his voice, and the raw emotion of it pushed her over the edge. Tears were streaming down her face in earnest now, and she began sobbing. Looking down, she tried to hide her face behind her free hand.

Draco was still holding her left arm, and gently rubbing his thumb over it. Her scar was a bit sensitive still, but his touch was warm and reassuring. He held onto the arm of her chair, a comforting presence until she could stop crying.

He produced another handkerchief and passed it over to her. This one was pale green and had the initials "dLm" embroidered in forest green. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and used a silent, wandless cleaning spell. She passed the crisp folded square back to Draco.

"Keep it," he smiled faintly, "I seem to have this effect on women."

Hermione resisted the urge to pass his offering back at him, instead tucking it into her blouse. "Anyway Drake, you're clearly smarter than the lot of them. Bellatrix spelled 'mudDNA' wrong."

Draco's smile did not so much fade: more it was forgotten as a new emotion overtook his face. His hypnotic gaze turned more intense as his pupils dilated until there was but a ring of gray surrounding glossy black. Hermione nearly choked.

They were both blissfully frozen in time until a piercing owl screech rent the air. Hermione looked up just in time to see a brown ball of wet feathers collide against a closed window with a thud. "Oh no! Errol!"

Draco hopped up and sprinted to the window, throwing it open and sticking his arm out. The windows had actually been significantly dampening the noise of the storm outside. Now she could hear its full force.

When Draco brought his arm in a drenched, tired-looking Errol was perched on it. "You know this owl?"

Hermione nodded. "It's the Weasley's."

Draco looked affronted. He had Errol turn to face the other way on his arm then brought the bird's back to his chest to keep him warm. Hermione went to untie the letter attached to Errol's foot. "Hermione Granger" it said, in Ron's chicken scratch print. Ron had spelled the note to be waterproof; too bad he hadn't had the same foresight for the bird.

A house elf she didn't recognize arrived shortly with a few towels, and Draco started muttering drying spells over his new feathery companion.

"So letting house elves do the work they love isn't okay, but forcing an owl to work well past his retirement is?" Draco sounded angry, but she didn't think it was at her. She earnestly pondered his comment as he continued to dry and warm the bird.

Once again she had no reply, so instead she read Ron's note. "I'm sorry. Please come home," it said. Hermione sighed.

"Is everything okay?" Errol now looked like a giant puff ball, and was nipping playfully at Draco's fingers.

"Fine. I should probably get going. It's getting late."

Draco nodded. "Continue tomorrow morning then?"

"I look forward to it," Hermione said genuinely.

"If you don't need to send a reply, he should probably stay in our owlery tonight. It's really awful out there, Hermione."

She nodded, again touched—and slightly confused—by his odd moments of caring.

"When you are ready to come tomorrow just call Wikket's name. Wherever you are, she'll come and get you and bring you to me."

"She would really come all that way if I just call her?"

Draco squeezed her shoulder. "For you, my dear, I think she would go to the Moon," he said in a preposterous accent. Like something from an old black and white movie.

Hermione decided she ought to give Harry an update, so she dragged her tired bones to Saint Mungo's.


	4. Castor and Pollux

**Author's Note: **I did not make up the tale of Castor and Pollux, and they are indeed the names of two stars in the constellation Gemini. It is also, apparently, a dog food brand. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Warning: **Self-harm. Domestic abuse. Mature content. I don't like Ron.

* * *

Chapter 4 — Castor and Pollux

* * *

Harry sat quietly in the sterility of the hospital room, surrounded by white that would have been oppressive had the lights not been dimmed.

Four white walls, an extra wide white door, white trimmed windows with white curtains, and white sheets on the hospital bed all served to further drown out Professor Snape's already pale features, leaving his dark hair a collection of raven's feathers in a sea of cotton.

The mind-numbing stasis into which Snape had fallen was encroaching upon Harry, who constantly found his body tired but his mind alert. It would have been nearly unbearable had the man causing his discomfort had also provided his respite: Harry may have been abysmal at Occlumency, but he had become quite good at the clearing his mind step.

At present, however, this ability was failing him spectacularly, as his mind kept wandering back to the revelations of earlier today. His first feeling had been panic: If he really was housing this man's soul, had it been destroyed along with Voldemort's? He didn't feel like he was holding anyone else inside him. But then, he had also been unable to determine if he could feel the part of Voldemort's soul inside him as distinguishable from his mental link to the now deceased wizard.

Harry thought back to the way Snape's memories had behaved, and decided it was unlikely Snape's soul was destroyed. Also, it was unlikely that Snape's body would still be surviving if his soul was completely gone.

So what did that mean for Harry? Somehow he knew he needed to be right here, at his former professor's side, to keep him safe.

He had just begun to wonder if Hermione had found anything when the witch herself walked into the room. Harry was immediately struck by the drastic change in her demeanor. She looked… _happy_. A word he had not used to describe her since... well, he didn't know when.

"Nice to see you," he said.

She walked around to the back wall where his chair was and gave him a big hug. "How are you?"

"Okay. Nothing changed. Big surprise."

"Have you eaten?"

"Hospital food, if that counts. Did you find anything?" he inquired as she returned to a chair near the door. He got up from the narrow leather recliner he had been occupying to join her. The two friends huddled close.

"A few things," she said, pulling out a notebook. "First, I'm in love with Drake's library."

Harry was surprised; he had assumed Ron had been the reason for her sudden cheer. "Drake?" he intoned, barely suppressing a laugh. "And does Drakey-poo have any other startling assets?"

"Oh shut it," she said with a glare, but her betraying face turned crimson as she stuttered out her next words. "I used my pulse spell to ping his Mark," Hermione began.

"Uh huh. And did he ping you back?" He received a bop on the head with her notebook for that comment.

"I'll have to interpret the results tomorrow. The Dark Mark is far more complicated than I had anticipated. It contains ninety-seven set spells, and possibly even more conduits. We got a bit further on what might have caused Snape's memories to rebound to you." Hermione was intensely referencing her notes now, speaking half to him and half to the pages. "Apparently a process called 'soul-reaping' was a rare but not unheard of practice at one point."

Harry blanched at the term.

"I know what you're thinking, but it's not death. It's a human housing another person's soul… temporarily. It was only done in the direst of circumstances. We haven't yet found exactly how it was done, or undone. Also, it seems the practice was disavowed a few hundred years ago. Unfortunately, I've no idea why."

"By 'we', I'm guessing you don't mean you and Ron?" Harry hazarded.

Hermione hesitated. "I didn't intend for it Harry, but Draco had a copy of _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ and seemed to know all about it."

"That's not creepy at all."

"I told him about Voldemort's Horcruxes, but... I didn't tell him that you were one. It was just the beginning of our research."

"And why does he know so much about Horcruxes, Hermione?" Harry intoned in his annoyingly castigating voice.

"I… didn't think to ask. I mean, the book's in _his_ library, so..." she said whilst looking guilty. "I'll ask tomorrow,"

"Do you trust him?" Harry asked, not angry, seemingly just trying to understand.

Hermione thought about the one piece of advice her mother had given her before she went off to Hogwarts: '_Trust your instincts_,' she had said. Hermione had taken the advice to heart. Her instincts were sometimes overly paranoid when telling her who not to trust, but they had never led her astray when telling her who she could trust. At the present they were telling her that whatever form of Draco had emerged after the war was indeed trying to help. "Yes."

"Okay," he said. "I trust your judgment, Hermione. Do what you need to do." He patted her hand in reassurance.

"Thanks, Harry."

"Now get some sleep. You look awful."

"Thanks, you too." They stood up for a departing hug, Harry still reveling in his state of _not dead_ while he caught a faint smell of something he couldn't identify and examined his fingertips as though he'd never seen them as she left the room.

Harry returned to his post at the far wall. The narrow leather recliner he occupied was amazingly not terrible. It could even be laid fully flat so he could properly sleep. He put it in an upright position so he could meditate.

* * *

Hermione left Professor Snape's room and apparated to the field outside the Burrow. It was not raining here, but gusts of wind accosted her fragile frame the moment she set foot on the ragged grass. She was relieved to step inside to warmth and calm.

"Hermione! So good to see you, dear." Mrs. Weasley was walking towards her, her warm eyes and open arms a welcome sight. She hugged her back in earnest, squeezing her eyes shut. It made her miss her mother and father. "You've missed dinner, but I saved you a plate. Just give me a moment to warm it up." Mrs. Weasley disappeared into the kitchen before Hermione could say thank you.

She sat at the table, looking around the room. Despite the fact that the Burrow was newly rebuilt, it seemed in a perpetual state of arrested decay. Organized clutter was everywhere. Someone had been quick to work bits of dirt and dust into those crevices one could never quite get clean, making this truly the Weasley's home once again.

The matron of the house returned with a plate of steaming food. Hermione inhaled it, happily leaving the burden of conversation on the older woman. When she was finished, she was sent upstairs to Ginny's room.

Had Harry been here, they would have waited twenty minutes and exchanged places: an arrangement they had worked out the previous summer. They figured Mrs. Weasley would not be as mad at Harry and Hermione, her guests, as being the instigators in room swapping in the event they were found out.

As it was, she sat and talked with Ginny for a bit. The younger girl was delightful. She was concerned for Harry, but her mother kept warning her off going to visit him. "I think she just doesn't want me to see everything awful happening at the hospital."

"Well hopefully we'll sort Snape out soon," Hermione smiled encouragingly.

"I hope so. Every time I say I'm going to see Harry she comes up with something that absolutely must be done that moment and requires my undivided attention," Ginny said with marked frustration.

"She's just scared she's going to lose her only little girl."

"She already did! I'm not little anymore." Ginny sat down in a huff.

"I know that. Everyone does but her. But Ginny, trust me when I say she never really will. Just accept it and work around it. Are you planning on going back to Hogwarts for the rest of the year?"

"I hope mum will let me. She's quite repressive. At least you and Ron are here too: spreads out the smothering."

"Glad to be of service."

"What about you?" Ginny asked. "I mean, are you going to return to school?"

"I've missed the entire year; I don't really see the point. I'll probably have to come back for seventh year if I ever want to get a job."

"Nonsense! You're brilliant, beautiful, and terrifying."

Hermione's eyes grew wide. "But there's so much left to learn!"

"If you insist. I won't object; we would be classmates then!"

Hermione smiled at the thought: maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all. She would have to give the idea more consideration once Professor Snape was awake and well, and her parents were back… and knew she existed. "That would be fun."

Ginny stretched out in her bed staring at the ceiling, her hands folded under her head. Hermione, as a birthday gift to Ginny, had made a small part of the ceiling bewitched to constantly look like it was storming. Ginny loved lightning and rain. She said it made her feel connected to the heavens.

"Maybe I'll sneak out and see Harry later," Ginny hazarded as the lightning from the ceiling danced hypnotically in the ginger's eyes.

"Just be careful. We don't know if all of the Death Eaters have been caught."

"Oh you sound like my mother! And anyway they have obviously not all been caught; Draco Malfoy is still on the loose," Ginny said with a snort, not noticing Hermione's sudden grimace. From what Malfoy had said, the only reason he was not in Azkaban was because no one had told the ministry he had taken the Dark Mark. Outside of the Death Eaters, as far as she knew, only she, Harry, and Ron knew he had. Well, and Dumbledore of course. But, as it stood, Ginny's comments were just speculation.

"I'm going to go see Ron, then. Goodnight," she said a bit shortly, and silently apparated to Ron's room. She was getting very good at silent apparation when the occasion called for it. This was a necessity if she ever wanted to be an Auror.

"About time! I was getting worried," Ron greeted her with a dopey grin and crushing bear hug.

Hermione sat on the bed next to Ron. She slouched into him, tired, and sore, and wanting nothing more than to sleep. "I'm fine, Ron," she said, pulling away slightly to return his smile. He brushed a curl out of her face.

"Did you find out anything?" Ron asked.

"Yes, I think we're on the right track." She briefly outlined everything she had discussed with Harry. "We should get some sleep. I'm going back there tomorrow morning."

"Do we have to? I mean you already analyzed his Mark."

"His library is an invaluable resource. We would be fools not to utilize it. Besides, D—Malfoy and I have already found the books we need, I think. We just need to analyze them further." Ron looked profoundly unhappy, but in the end nodded his agreement.

Hermione was, by this point, yawning constantly. She got up to turn off the light, but Ron's hand stopped her. "What's this?" he asked. His hand had pulled aside the left shoulder of her blouse.

Hermione looked down but only had a moment to note the dark green letters "dMl" before he was ranting at her.

She saw his face turn from a grimace to crimson rage in a heartbeat. "'_His library is an invaluable resource_'?" he mocked. "Let me guess, you never intended me to go back with you tomorrow?" Ron's fury seemed to steam from every pore. Hermione shook her head and took a step away from him, but he was still holding onto her blouse.

Her movement only seemed to upset Ron more, as he pulled his hand away, ripping her blouse and left bra strap in the process. The pale green fabric fell to the ground, and Ron just stared at it with disgust for a moment.

"'_Already found the books we need_.'? And how does that involve his possessions being in your lingerie?"

Hermione was too furious at his overreaction and frightened of his fury to speak. All she could do was shake her head. This was evidently not the answer he was looking for.

He began to stalk towards her; the glazed look on his face made her adrenaline spike. "_A fool not to utilize his resources_," he screamed, backing her into a corner, "after the way he treated you for SEVEN YEARS."

He spoke with his hands wildly flailing and clenched into fists. "Maybe that's what I was doing wrong. Maybe I was too gentle on the shrew!" He screamed, but gave no other warning, as the smack across her face with the back of his hand left her stunned.

By then she had backed up to a wall and began sinking down it, one hand holding her blouse over her shoulder. Silent tears started to pour down her face at his hurtful words, and he reached out to grab a hold of her, "You two-knut whore!"

Hermione felt like she had the wind knocked out of her by her panic alone, but somehow managed to hiss out "Wikket!" and the house elf was there, grabbed her arm, and had apparated her away within a heartbeat.

Hermione found herself looking around a dark room while trying to calm herself. She didn't see Wikket anywhere, but there was a bed nearby. She started once her eyes adjusted enough to see there was someone in the bed. One peek at a streak of impossibly white hair told her the rest. Evidently Wikket had taken the order to bring her to him quite literally. She let out a breath, which turned into a whimper, and Draco sat straight up in bed, fully alert.

His eyes immediately locked on her. "Hermione?" he said, getting out of bed. He grabbed a robe from the bedpost, wrapping it around his tall frame.

"What happened?" he asked. His eyes held such concern that they tore at her heart, as Ron's hate-filled eyes had moments before. Unable to speak, she shook her head again. The flow of tears had temporarily abated: they were now just pooling in her eyes.

He looked at her torn clothing and placed a hand on her bare shoulder. "Who did this to you?" he asked. Hermione shook her head again, averting her eyes downward. Draco took off his robe and wrapped it around her. As she watched him, she saw the pale green fabric clutched in her hand. She must have summoned it before being apparated.

"I—," she choked on her words, but Draco watched her patiently, holding her shoulders gently. "Ron saw—." She couldn't finish the sentence. "Drake, please," she said, before she started sobbing. Draco pulled her towards him. She reveled in his embrace, crying a salty river down his bare chest.

He held her head to him with one hand, and rubbed her back with the other, all the while whispering calmly into her ear. "Shhhh. It's over. You're safe now, Hermione," Draco said softly, squeezing her to him. He let her cry on a bit. "You never have to see him again." he said. "I won't let him hurt you." His steadying voice was the anchor to which her frantically swirling mind grasps.

Slowly, her sobs subsided into cries, her cries subsided into whimpers, and her whimpers subsided into silence. Only then did Draco say softly, "Come with me." He surprised her by picking her up bridal style and sitting her on his bed, where he continued to cradle her, her head resting on his shoulder. She tucked up her legs and put her arms around him. She felt at peace for the first time in ages. She didn't want this moment to end.

"I'm sorry I'm imposing," she said without moving.

"Oh don't be stupid," he whispered softly into her ear.

"I'm not stupid, _ferret_," she chided back.

"_Chromosomal aberration_."

She actually smiled into his shoulder and tightened her grip on him. She moved her face to rest in the crook of his neck, where her lips would naturally rest against his skin: covertly kissing his neck without kissing his neck.

A feeling of contentment washed over her, and before she knew it, she was asleep.

* * *

Harry woke to a soft tapping on the small square window in the room's door. He checked his watch and saw it was one o'clock in the morning. Who could possibly be calling at this hour?

He got up to open the door, its bulking form making it croak open slowly. "Ginny!" He whispered, stepping into the hallway to give the tiny redhead a hug. "What are you doing here so late?"

"Mum's been crazy about me leaving the house. She's convinced Death Eaters are out to maim and kill us all," Ginny laughed.

"Well it's good to see you. How are you?"

"I'm fine, just missing you. How are _you_, Harry?"

"Oh I believe the phrase is, 'as good as can be expected,' whatever the hell that means." He smiled and tried to laugh. Ginny nodded sympathetically and rubbed his arm, which she had not let go of.

They stood in silence until Ginny could bare it no longer. "Look I know this is probably a bad time, but I thought, since Voldemort can't use me to get to you anymore, maybe you would be interested in thinking about getting back together?" Her whimsical, pale face reflected up at him earnestly.

"Uh, I um..." Truthfully, he hadn't thought about it. Now that he did, he supposed that would be the natural course of action to take. But—"I'm going to need to be with Professor Snape for a while, possibly quite some time. I can't really put anything into a relationship until he's better. It wouldn't be fair to you for it to be so one-sided."

"Oh... I..." That was clearly not the answer she had been hoping for. "I understand," she said, now feigning a smile. Inside her heart was sinking to somewhere around the region of her left foot. "How is he?"

"Oh, ya know, still the same. I'm sure Hermione's told you."

Ginny nodded. "I hope she's okay. She and Ron had a nasty row."

Harry frowned. He would probably be getting earfulls from both parties tomorrow. "Well they can both be… stubborn." They laughed simultaneously.

"Indeed. I had better get back before mum notices I'm gone."

"Eek. I hope you left a note!" Harry hugged her, and kissed her cheek. Ginny smiled a small sad smile before turning and walking away.

* * *

When Hermione woke, the room was still pitch black. She wondered how long she had slept. She was tucked under a mountain of blankets and still wearing the robe Draco had draped around her.

She slowly slid out of the buttery soft cotton sheets and went over to a window. Pushing the curtain aside, she was instantly blinded by the rays of light that streamed in. She quickly set them right, blinking her eyes in a largely vain attempt to regain her vision.

Hermione turned the handle on a door she thought might lead to a bathroom. The echoing sound and cold tile that met her footsteps indicated she was correct. Good thing, as she desperately needed to pee.

Once she was finished, she tried the door she thought might be the exit. She peered outside, expecting to see a hallway. Instead she found another slightly less pitchy room. There was a round table in one corner, a few bookcases, a large couch, and other assorted furniture. Looking closer at the couch, she realized there was a certain dragon sleeping on it.

Hermione tiptoed back into the bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar. She crawled back into bed and drew the covers to her nose.

She lay still, luxuriating in the solitude and safety, for only a few minutes before Draco came wandering in. He was wearing the fluffiest robe she had ever seen. What was more shocking was his hair was actually disheveled, and he had on—were those pink bunny slippers?

"Hermione? You awake?" He whispered, sitting down on the bed as she was sitting up.

"Uh huh," she said, and he evidently noticed when her attention was rapidly drawn to his feet.

"Er… they were a gift," he hid one foot behind the other leg as if that would help.

"I see. Were you cold?" She asked, tugging on his sleeve.

"No, but my more seasonally-appropriate garment is currently occupied."

"Oh right. Sorry."

"Stop saying sorry. It's not your fault."

"Sorry. For saying sorry too much, that is." She wished there was something hard nearby she could bang her head against.

"Wikket said she brought your things. I'm afraid all she found were some clothes and a purse." Draco sounded disappointed in himself, like he had somehow failed her.

"No that's about it."

"Do you have no other possessions?" he asked, unaware how insensitive that sounded.

"I do. It's a very special purse. I'll show you later, I promise," she smiled.

"I've learned better than to argue with you."

"You're a quick study."

"I try. Would you like to get ready first?" Draco asked.

Hermione suddenly realized she was occupying the man's bed and preventing him from using his own bathroom. "Oh! No you go ahead."

"I won't be long. Your things are in the next room," he said, pointing to the room where he had slept.

"Thank you," Hermione said, "for everything."

"You would have done the same," Draco said simply, going into the bathroom and closing the door.

The small amount of light coming from the other room led her out of the bedroom, and she opened the curtains a fraction. She saw her beaded purse was indeed sitting on the circular table. She quickly searched in it for her notebook, and sighed with relief when she found it.

In the corner was a wardrobe she had not noticed before. Sure enough, it contained the few clothes she had unpacked into Ginny's closet, along with several dresses she didn't recognize. Was Draco cross dressing these days? She giggled at the image (which was surprisingly flattering) that came to mind.

She grabbed a change of clothes, pulling off her skirt and ruined blouse under the robe.

Peering into the bedroom, she saw Draco leave the bathroom in a puff of steam. He was already dressed, hair styled, and smiling.

"Milady." He bowed her into the room, exiting the bedroom after she entered. "I'll be out here. Take your time." He shut the bedroom door.

Hermione quickly showered and dressed, a habit well ingrained after a year of living on the move, stealing showers wherever they could find them. She entered the small sitting room to see Draco at the circular table. He was reading The Daily Prophet and sipping at tea. A whole array of breakfast items were set out.

He looked over his paper upon seeing her. "I hope you're hungry. We haven't had guests in a while, so the elves went a little overboard," he said apologetically, indicating all of the food on the table.

"It's lovely," she said, taking the seat next to Draco.

Hermione grabbed a blueberry scone and some breakfast tea.

"_Prophet_?" Draco inquired.

"Please." She perused the paper when Draco had produced a second copy, hoping not to find any news of Death Eater sightings. Luckily there seemed to be none.

Draco let her finish her breakfast, and tea, and once she set down her paper he followed suit. His face was serious and concerned when Hermione looked at him. "Please tell me what happened last night."

Though she was only half surprised, Hermione's heart started racing, images of last night's encounter flashing into her mind. She had to tell herself she was safe here. It didn't make saying the words any easier. "Ron saw the handkerchief you gave me. It had your initials on it, and I had tucked it into my blouse. He just reacted badly."

Draco let her collect her thoughts for a moment before prompting her. "Go on."

"He wouldn't even let me explain. He got furious. He called me a 'two-knut whore.'"

Draco's voice became dangerously low. "Did he hit you?"

"He... tore my blouse. That was my fault, really, I just pulled away too fast and—"

"Stop," Draco said firmly, but not unkindly. "Just stop. You know that was not your fault."

Hermione could not look at him nor feel anything but intensely miserable at the moment. Draco sat back in his chair, his right thumb absentmindedly rubbing at the tablecloth. They sat like that for a few minutes. Hermione was proud of herself; she had managed not to break down in tears for once. Draco's silent presence was calming.

Finally he held his hand out to her, palm up. She looked at his face questioningly. "Come, my lady. There's work to be done."

He helped her out of her chair and she resisted the urge to clear the table. She imagined he would have a laugh at that. Draco led her through his maze of a mansion at an amble, pointing out a few rooms as they went. He had to be the last ambler in the world. Hermione tried to get her bearings, but soon gave up.

"Your mother is certainly making herself scarce," she observed.

"Well, she is gone quite a bit." Draco sounded hesitant, and then looked guilty.

"Let me guess, she doesn't want a filthy mudblood in her house." Hermione entirely failed to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

"It's not as bad as all that. Old prejudices just die hard," he tried to explain. They had reached the library, and were settling into their now familiar seats. The books were still lined up like cadets waiting for inspection.

Hermione looked doubtful.

"Try to imagine being told all your life that muggles would kill you in your sleep if you didn't eat all your vegetables."

"What the bloody hell! That's horrible!"

"And it's not just social conditioning. Look at the laws. We can go to prison for performing magic in front of muggles, but it's okay to marry them?"

"Those laws are meant to protect the population as a whole. They don't tell you who you can and cannot fall in love with. And what about those with no magical history in their lineage that end up a wizard through an accident of genetics? That is no one's fault. Are they supposed to suffer?"

"Well actually I didn't know about that until you brought it up. You may be shocked to know that not everyone is as smart as you."

She delighted at the compliment.

Hermione spoke as if letting someone in on a very important secret. "Well then it may interest _you_ to know I have evidence to believe that the likelihood of that particular abnormality has changed significantly over time." The importance of her statement was completely lost on Draco.

"Eh?"

"Genetic conditions have almost all held the same frequency over time. There are more cases of, say, a certain genetic disorder, because there are more people, but the percentage affected is the same. In the case of my 'condition,'" she said with air quotes, "the frequency changes. I've noticed a pattern as well. It seems to be freakishly high about twenty years before a war. I'm still working on a statistical analysis, but from what I've seen it is extremely unlikely this is due to random chance alone."

"Hmm. And that means?"

"Maybe nothing. Maybe the Goddess is making more witches and wizards when they know they will be needed."

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "Or perhaps when too many wizards come, we get war. It's always been a population control mechanism."

Hermione nodded, impressed Draco was able to come to that conclusion so quickly, "Perhaps."

They both sat in peaceable quietude for a time, until Draco finally asked "Where would you like to start today?"

"Actually I would really like to figure out why the practice was deemed a 'Dark Art,'" she said.

Draco grabbed the eighth book they had set off to the side. It was a massive tome on Wizengamot decisions and Common Law in the early sixteenth century. Hermione was surprised to see another small book had been hiding under it. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was a copy of _The Tales of Beedle The Bard_.

"Did Wikket bring this?" Hermione asked, a bit confused.

"She must have."

The witch ran her hand over the cover. _Another mystery to solve, and once again this book appears_, she thought to herself. She flipped through the pages, trying to remember all the stories she had read. "Of course!" She cried aloud upon spotting a particular tale, and Draco looked up from his reading. "Castor and Pollux! The patrons of sailors!" She sat down, practically vibrating with excitement over solving another clue. "They were twins, but Castor was mortal. When he died, his brother shared his immortality. They went on all sorts of adventures at sea, with Pollux shepherding his brother's soul until Castor grew tired. Then Pollux transformed them both into the constellation Gemini where they could watch over the seas forever."

"But, that's just a children's tale. Isn't it?" Draco's voice was laced with doubt.

"At this point…" Hermione trailed off. "Look, I believe immortality goes against the laws of nature—quite frankly, against the laws of physics. But there could be some truth behind that tale." Hermione flipped through the pages. "There are seventeen adventures and seventeen days before Castor 'grew tired,' as they put it. If that's true, it may give us an upper limit on how long we have to set Professor Snape right."

Draco was considering this carefully. "For such a logical person, why do you put so much stock in fairy tales?"

"Most stories have _some_ basis in reality. Probably a quarter of everything I write is inspired in some part by real life. It's just used in entirely different ways."

"Oh? You're a writer?"

Hermione blushed. "It's been known to happen." She collected her thoughts a moment before turning to look at Draco. He had completely abandoned his law book and was focusing on her. "And, um, you remember mentioning the tale of the Deathly Hallows?"

Draco arched his right eyebrow.

"It's true: at least to the extent that they exist."

Draco's left eyebrow went even further up.

"Dumbledore and Harry used them to defeat Voldemort."

"How?"

"Well in short, Voldemort was made to believe he was the true wielder of the Elder Wand, when in reality it was Harry. So, when he tried to use it against Harry it backfired—literally. Fascinating tale, but it will have to wait. Did you find anything?"

Draco snapped out of his reverie. "Oh, let me see. _Reperio_ 'Soul Reap.'" Draco said, pointing his wand at the book. It lay motionless. "_Reperio_ 'Soul Housing.'" Again nothing.

"Try 'Soul Shepherding,'" she suggested, "like in the fable."

"_Reperio_ 'Soul Shepherding.'"

The ancient pages crackled forward, blowing up a slight gust that tickled Hermione's nose. She got as close as she could to Draco without quite touching him, enjoying the resulting mutually-warmed pocket of air.

They read along in companionable silence. Hermione discovered she was a slightly slower reader—because she was committing more detail to memory, she told herself—so she was the one to turn the pages, reaching across his lap to do so.

There had been three legal cases that made it to a high enough court to be included in the book. The first was a case where a witch's healer had saved her life by housing her soul briefly until a poison could be flushed out of her system. Being that she was dying and unconscious, the healer could not obtain her prior consent. The judges concluded that the witch had in fact been suicidal at the time, probably taking the poison herself, and the majority opinion upheld the current law which did not require obtaining prior consent for life saving medical procedures if it was impossible to do so from the patient and no next of kin were readily accessible.

The second case was also about prior consent. In this case, the healer housed her patient's soul for two days while, after a freak accident with a cotton ball, he had to re-grow nearly every bone in his body. The patient was unhappy at being stuck in a, "mental prison," in his own words for that long. The ruling was once again in favor of the healer's judgment.

The third case was the most interesting. A healer and his patient together were suing the medical community as a whole and trying to outlaw the practice completely. It seemed the healer had fallen quite ill while caring for his patient, and was unable to return her soul for ten days. As a result, residual bits of it were left behind. He would have stray thoughts he knew were not his, inexplicably abandoned his lifetime devotion to the Chudley Cannons in favor of the Hollyhead Harpies, developed subconscious habits that belonged to her, and vice-versa. This final case spelled the end of the practice in the legal world.

"That's not good," Hermione said. "Snape's been out eight days now."

Draco mirrored Hermione's concern. "So much for seventeen days being the upper limit, even if that story is true."

"Well, between stray thoughts and death, I think Harry would pick the former. Still, we should hurry." Hermione assigned Draco to look through the three books on the Dark Arts, trying to find how soul reaping was performed, and how it was undone. She took the first four.

At lunchtime, two plates of piping hot shepherd's pie appeared on the table. "Good heavens!" Draco exclaimed. "My mum's cooked," Draco said.

Those were words she never thought she'd hear out of his mouth.

"Mum's shepherd's pie is my favorite."

Hermione looked at her plate doubtfully. "Are you sure it's not poisoned?" she asked in a deadly serious whisper.

Draco gave her an "aren't you adorable" look, and switched plates with her. Satisfied, she dug in while still reading and taking notes. Draco tried to do the same, but eventually ended up finishing his meal before continuing.

Several hours later, Hermione was going over her notes when Draco said, "I think that's all I'll get out of these books." They switched notes.

It seemed the Dark Arts community had gone back to calling the practice Soul Reaping, whereas the medical community moved to more and more user-friendly terms over time.

There were several methods of ripping out someone's soul, probably as a result of the ritual changing over time, but always ended with the incantation "_Animus Illicio_." There was another pattern she had identified: it seemed each ritual of taking was paired with the same ritual of restoring, which meant they had to find exactly how Harry had done it before they could undo it.

"That's about what I found out, too," Draco said, after she voiced her conclusions. "Also it seems, even once it was a Dark Art, the practice still required the person to be very close to death, and the person performing the soul extraction to have good intentions. The nearly departed soul would not be enticed by malcontents. That is, as an understatement, a relief."

Hermione nodded vigorously. She hadn't thought about that. "Now all we need to do is figure out how Harry did it."

"I don't understand how he could have. All we heard him say was the final incantation," Draco said, furrowing his eyebrows.

"That's where the Dark Mark comes in, I think."

Draco tensed visibly. "How so?"

"Did Voldemort ever say anything to you about it? What it was for?"

"You mean besides summoning us? Not really, no."

"Do you remember him putting it on you?"

Draco searched his memories, at first pensively, but then with increasing alarm. He paled at the conclusion he came to. "No. Absolutely nothing. I... never realized. He must have wiped my memories of it," Draco said, clearly affronted by the violation.

Though this was news to Hermione, she was not surprised.

"I know it must have some sort of self-healing properties. It cannot be destroyed," Draco said.

"Don't be silly, anything can be destroyed."

"No, really, look." Draco stood up, pulling a tiny dagger out of his right boot.

All Hermione could do was watch in horror as Draco plunged it into his left arm at the Serpent's tail, blood immediately spurting out, and pulled it all the way up to the top of the skull. In between the crimson gushes she saw bone and fatty white beads, but only for a moment, as the cut started to heal itself from the inside out. Within half a minute there was not even a line on his arm.

She stood up, shivering like a recently plucked cello string. "DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY DON'T YOU EVER DO THAT AGAIN!" she screamed, and slapped him smartly across the face. He dropped the dagger, which landed with a thud on the floor.

"Sorry," He said with wide eyes.

She resisted the urge to smack him. "'_Sorry'?!_"

"I guess I'm used to friends that find that kind of stuff amusing."

"And it never set off alarm bells that your friends thought self-mutilation was amusing?" she hissed.

He shrugged silently, stretching his pale features into an undignified frown.

She paused for a moment as a thought occurred to her. "Do you do that often?"

"Just a few times."

"Anywhere else?"

The question surprised Draco so much that he didn't immediately answer in the negative.

This was all the answer Hermione needed. "_Show me_," she said, once again employing her "special voice."

For just a moment, he looked like he might resist, but then his trembling hand reached down to his midriff to undo his belt.

_Ohmygosh ohmygosh ohmygosh! Abort! Abort!_ Hermione thought to herself in a panic.

He undid the button and pulled down his zipper, pushing down his pants to pool on the floor. He looked away from her.

Hermione floundered for only a moment before stubbornly searching his flesh for any signs of abnormality. Sinking lower to the ground, her eyes immediately were drawn to one particular spot: there were parallel red lines on both of his outer thighs, sharply accentuated by his pale skin. Some were fainter than others, and some were deep and frightening.

She touched his still closing wounds, muttering the few healing spells she knew, slowly drawing her hands along his cooling skin. He had been observing her ministrations, and when she looked up she could see the pain and sadness in his eyes for a fraction of a second before he masked over it.

"I'm sorry." She said, dressing him with one swish of her wand.

"You did what you felt was necessary I guess."

"No. 'I'm sorry' is what I say to people I care about to indicate I wish I could bear their pain for them." She stood facing him now, and caught the brief look of sadness that crossed his face before he wiped it off with a grin.

"Ugh, _Gryffindors_," he said in mock exasperation.

Hermione half smiled. "Zip it, ferret."

"Mutant," Draco teased, sitting down again. He was silent for awhile. Hermione sat with him in silence, her hand on his, thumb slowly stroking the back. "I know what you're going to say; the same thing my mum did." Draco was far more relaxed now that they were seated and he was fully clothed.

"She knows about this!?"

Draco didn't reply.

"Look, I'm not going to tell you to stop. Unless you cut too deep, or something gets infected, it's not going to kill you. Of course I don't want you to, because I care about you. But that would just be treating the symptoms." Hermione tried to keep her emotions in check. He didn't need coddling; he needed help.

"What should be addressed is why you do this." Hermione paused to study his face. "Do you know why you do this?" Draco flinched. A moment later his head nodded jerkily. "Will you tell me?"

"I can't," he whispered, finally meeting her eyes.

"Will you tell someone?" He had tears in his eyes. "Surely there must be someone?"

Draco just shrugged. "Why did you live your life so alone, Drake?" She implored.

"Just the way I was raised. Don't trust, don't tell, and don't get hurt."

"How's that working out for you?"

"Not so great," he conceded.


	5. Detour Down Knockturn Alley

**Author's Note: **Thanks for the R'n'R (Read and Review)! ,':-)

**Warning: **Mature content. Reader discretion is advised.

* * *

Chapter 5 — Detour Down Knockturn Alley

* * *

Harry woke after another fitful night. Sleep was hard to come by: quality sleep even more so. The faint lights and perpetual hum of the hospital had become the oddly comforting companions of his sentinel's watch.

"Good morning, Professor." Harry knew his slumbering charge probably could not hear him, but he talked to him anyway. Andrell said it _might_ help. He had started to confess all of the mischievous things him and his friends had done over the years, hoping that pure rage might fuel the older man to claw his way from the depths of slumber.

When he had mentioned how Hermione had stolen all of the supplies to make Polyjuice Potion in their second year, he thought he had seen something—a twitch or flicker, but, then…. no. Nothing. It must have been a trick of the light.

Harry's benign morning fog was violently hacked to bits by Ron who arrived at the crack of noon to rant about the night before.

"She's mental, Hermione is," Ron began, combing his hand through his hair. "She shows up in my bedroom at nearly midnight _wearing his clothes_ and expects me not to ask questions?"

"She was wearing his clothes?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"Well sort of. Okay not at all, but she may as well have been." Ron proceeded to rehash every bad thing Malfoy had ever done to anyone over their time at school, while extolling all of his own kind, chivalrous, and heroic actions. Harry wanted to hand him a skull to talk at and make for the door. But, as it was, he sat there patiently and attentively, listening to his friend's diatribe.

"He almost got Buckbeak killed."

_To be fair, that was mostly his father._

"He got everyone in the DA in trouble. Bloody hell, he let Death Eaters into Hogwarts! He's lucky they didn't kill anyone. He cursed Katie Bell, and poised me with that bloody mead."

As Ron continued, the seriousness of the grievances waned while his friend's voice crescendoed.

Professor Snape hadn't woken during the uprorious rant, so, surely it was a lost cause.

Harry began writing his eulogy while Ron nattered on. _Here lies the great hero Severus Snape who, in the end, was bored to death by Ronald Weasley. And now here also lies Harry Potter who just off-ed himself and jumped in the coffin with him so as to escape the incessant noise._

When Ron paused for breath Harry seized the opportunity. "You're absolutely right," he said, knowing the best way to calm his friend down was to first agree with him. "And what did Hermione have to say?"

Ron turned away from the wall he had been trying to bore a hole into with his eyes to look at Harry. "Nothing! She said nothing! Just stood there!"

Harry nodded, trying to look pensive. "Well did you ask her? Maybe why she was out so late?"

Ron sputtered. "Well that's hardly the point."

Harry glared at him.

"Okay, no. I didn't ask her anything, but she didn't give me a chance. She just apparated away!" Ron said.

This was the part that concerned Harry. She seldom avoided confrontation. When lesser mortals were fleeing in terror, there Hermione was, wand in hand and fire in her heart, mind, and soul.

She was so often asked by people why she wasn't in Ravenclaw because of her book smarts. Those people hadn't seen her impose herself between him and what they all thought was a murderous lunatic when Sirius lured Pettigrew to the Shrieking Shack. They hadn't watched her jump onto the back of an enraged dragon. They hadn't seen her volunteer to go with him when he marched to his death in the Forbidden Forrest, or offer to stay with Hagrid while Buckbeak's death sentence was carried out.

"Ron, you're not going to get any sense out of her if you're shouting. Maybe you should both just take a day or two. Let things cool off. We've all got enough to worry about."

"I suppose you're right." Ron sat down with a sharp exhalation of breath, and then began studying his shoes. "Oy, where's Ginny anyway?"

"Ginny?"

"Yeah, her note said she'd be here. Mum went bat shit crazy of course, but I calmed her down. You owe me one, mate."

Harry's pulse quickened, and his senses heightened immediately. "She was only here for twenty minutes, Ron."

His friend's head shot up. "Then where did she go?"

"She said she was going home after that—worried your mum would catch her gone, in fact."

"Well she wasn't there. I didn't hear her come home. She might have gone to Luna's. She does that a lot without telling anyone. 'Attention-seeking behavior,' mum calls it."

"Check with Luna then, and I'll have Kreacher look for Mundungus just in case."

"That rotten thief? What do you want with him?"

"He may be vile but he will do honest work for gold, and he's the best skip trace I know," Harry said. "Actually, the only skip trace I know," he admitted. "Kreacher!"

Kreacher arrived with a characteristic pop. Harry gave him instructions to _request _Mundungus' _paid_ services and _kindly_ _escort_ him to the hospital.

"Come on then, let's go and see Luna," Ron said.

"I have to stay with Professor Snape."

"This is my sister, mate! I think Snape will be okay alone for an hour!"

"Honestly I don't think he will. And I need to wait here in case Dung comes anyway."

Ron huffed, and puffed, and disapparated. Harry relaxed.

"Sorry about that. My friend's a little woo-hoo," he said to Snape, pitching his voice high and twirling his index finger around his right ear to exemplify what "woo-hoo" meant.

A few minutes later, there was a tapping on the outside window. Ron had sent Pigwidgeon with a note to indicate he had not found Ginny at Luna's, and that he and Luna were going to check with other friends. He also requested that Harry send Pig on to Hermione with a note explaining the situation. At least Ron was sensible enough for that.

Harry scribbled a note to Hermione. After a note of contemplation, he added, as a post script, "Are you okay?" He tied the note to Pig's foot and launched him into the air when there was another tapping on glass.

Harry turned toward the interior door but didn't see anyone. When he opened it, he was greeted with an enthusiastic, "Mr. Potter! So good to see you again!"

Of course Dung would be too short to see through the window.

"Mundungus Fletcher at your service." The man bowed deeply.

Dung kept trying to covertly peer around him to get a look at Snape, so Harry stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him.

"I'm looking for someone that's gone missing," Harry said seriously, determined to keep his tone professional.

"Well it's a rare day indeed we go looking for someone that's gone found," Dung drawled. Harry rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright, no need to get tetchy. I'll just need a few particulars."

Mundungus pulled out a small notebook and licked his thumb before flipping through it to an empty page.

"Name?"

"Ginny Weasley."

"Age?"

"16"

"Brief-physical-description." He accentuated each highly accented word with excessive movement of his large lips.

"Well, her hair is—."

"—Red. I'd guessed that part—"

"—and long. She has brown eyes. She's about my height."

"When was she last seen?"

"About half past one this morning: she came to visit me here."

"And what was she wearing?"

"Erm, clothes."

"... right. Since she's a minor I'm guessing she used the floo network." Harry nodded. "I'll go and talk to the desk staff and take it from there."

"Thank you."

Dung started to turn, but hesitated. "You know, since she's a minor, she'll still have the trace on her. You could just involve the Ministry."

"I'd rather eat flaming tarantula poo."

"Well at least we agree on that point, Mr. Potter," Mundungus cooed, reaching out to shake Harry's hand heartily before retreating.

* * *

Hermione sighed. "Alright, let's get back to work." She got out her wand and pointed to an arbitrary point above the desk in front of them. "_Expono Prior Pulsatio," _she stated, and different colors of light started streaming out of her wand.

Draco watched with wonder as the lights coalesced into what looked somewhat like a topographical map which, when viewed from above, looked exactly like the Dark Mark. "That's amazing!" he said. Her heart swelled with pride. "What is it?"

"Basically, a map of the set spells in your Dark Mark."

"You mentioned set spells before. I'm not familiar with the term."

"From what I can tell, Voldemort was the first one to use it, and to use spells in such a way. That is part of what made him so exceptional, and dangerous. He was extremely innovative: not afraid to think outside the box, if you will."

"So, like you?" Draco mused, holding up his hands in surrender at her glare.

"Exactly," She eventually conceded, with a menacing stare. "Now, we see magic in objects every day: everything from a jumping Chocolate Frog to the Goblet of Fire. These are all self-contained devices. What makes this special," she indicated the map of the Dark Mark in front of her, "is that he was storing spells which he could use later."

Draco considered this for a moment, glancing subconsciously at his left arm. "What kind of spells?"

"That's what I have to analyze to be sure. He probably stored spells he knew he would use often or spells that required a lot of magic. This way, he could perform many powerful spells without draining his magical core even minutely. Basically he hijacked your magical power—and that of all of the Death Eaters.

"So you see it was in his best interest to keep the Mark in good condition: hence its self-healing capabilities." Hermione reached out to the hovering map, expanding it by pulling her hands apart and rotating it with her right hand. "You see here," she pointed to a green ring near the bottom, "and here," she said, pointing to another near the top. "Healing spells. There are many others, but those are the two most powerful."

"That's amazing."

"Voldy says 'thanks.'"

"I mean that you figured all this out."

"I say thanks, too."

"So you think he stored some sort of spell to perform this soul transference in the Mark, and that Harry was able to use it somehow?"

"Yes. Now I just have to figure out which one it is." She indicated the slowly spinning mass of colors in front of her. "This is even more complicated than I thought, though. All of the spells are interconnected; it's like they're… tangled. Probably specifically to slow someone down that was trying to interpret them."

"Would it be faster perhaps to narrow it down to the methods he could have known about? He was an orphan, right? So he obviously didn't have an extensive library. He must have done his research at Hogwarts."

"Maybe at first, but, Drake, your father was a Death Eater. Do you know for sure Voldemort wasn't here all the time? It was before you were born. The Dark Mark could have evolved as he grew stronger. For all we know, he could have sat right where we sit now and gone through these exact same books."

They both grew silent, staring at the books and furniture around them. Hermione resisted the urge to scourgify everything in sight. "That's an unsettling thought," he voiced for both of them, then got up to answer an owl's tapping on the window.

Hermione was filled with dread when she saw the owl was Pigwidgeon. "It's for you," Draco said, bringing her a folded note while gently smoothing the owl's flight-worn feathers. Her dread was partially replaced with confusion as she realized the note was from Harry.

Draco watched as her face grew alarmed. "Is everything okay?" He asked.

"Ginny's gone missing," she said, consulting the note, "at 1:30 this morning." _And I was so short with her last night. I didn't even hug her before I left. She must think I hate her! What if she's dead!? This is all my fault! _"We have to go and find her!"

"Do you know where to start looking?"

Harry's note said they had already checked with Luna. Aside from that, she had no idea where her friend could be. "No. We'll have to go see if Harry has any news. Er—will you come with me?"

Draco's smile was reassuring. He held out his hand, and apparated them to St. Mungo's the moment she took it.

* * *

Harry sat in his usual chair wringing his hands. He wished he could be doing something to help find Ginny, but he didn't want to leave Snape's side.

He was relieved when Hermione arrived, even if Malfoy was in tow. "Have you any more news?" she asked, getting straight down to business.

"No. I've sent Mundungus to look for her. How about you?"

Hermione realized he was talking about their research. "No but we're getting close. I just need more time."

That word again. _Time_, Harry thought. It came at a premium these days. He looked over the woman standing in front of him, a bundle of nerves. The stress of the last year had aged his friend. Now when he looked at her eyes, he saw the heartache of a thousand lifetimes. He would do anything to take that away from her.

"Harry if you think I should go back to research—"

"No we're fine. We've waited this long. Ginny is missing _now_. Besides I just have the feeling that as long as I am close to him we'll be okay for now."

Hermione nodded, exchanging a look with Malfoy. Harry didn't know how to feel about their growing camaraderie. She had said she trusted the aristocratic brat. But there was more than one arena of trust, and she tended to be careless with her heart.

Ron and Luna arrived at that moment, crowding the room once again. "Luna!" Harry gave the witch a crushing hug, easily picking her up off her feet. "I've missed you!"

"Oh aren't you sweet," Luna said in her wholesome, airy voice. "I've missed you too, Harry Potter."

"What's he doing here?" Ron immediately grew agitated upon spotting Malfoy.

"I asked for his help," Hermione said simply, staring down Ron defiantly. Luna looked dreamily around the room, blissfully unaware of the growing tension.

"Over my dead body; this is _my _sister."

"And _my_ friend. You asked for my help. That comes with Draco. Do you want it or not?"

Ron's gaze darted between Hermione and Malfoy, looking absolutely flummoxed that Hermione had just formed those noises with her face. "I need to talk to you _in private._" He glowered, placing a hand on her arm to usher her outside. She shrugged his arm off of her, and Ron tried to grab her hand instead. This was all the provocation Malfoy needed to launch himself at Ron. "Don't you ever touch her again," Malfoy punched him squarely on the jaw.

Harry noticed Luna drift over to his customary seat, taking Snape's hand in her own and smiling down kindly at him.

Ron picked himself up off the floor with amazing agility, and the two were brawling in earnest by the time Harry could interject himself between them.

"Both of you stop it!" Hermione cried.

In between flying fists, Harry caught glimpses of the blonde witch still sitting with their Professor. Luna was talking quietly to Snape now, completely oblivious to the fight occurring mere feet from her.

Harry finally pulled Ron off Malfoy, and Hermione effectively latched herself onto Malfoy's arm. If he wanted to keep fighting he would have to drag her along.

The door to the hospital room cracked open, and Healer Andrell stuck his red-gold locks in. "Oh my, is that excessive displays of manliness I hear?" he said cheerfully. "I hope all is copacetic. I wouldn't want to have to throw anyone out!"

"Yes, sir," they said, looking for all the world like scolded school children.

"I suspect nargles," Luna said helpfully.

Harry waited for Andrell to shut the door before speaking. "I need everyone to focus. We're all here to help Ginny, right?" Hermione nodded her head. Reluctantly, Ron and Malfoy followed. Even Luna, who had gone back to talking very quietly to the stubbornly comatose Professor after her previous comment, nodded while continuing her steady monologue.

"So what do we know so far?" Harry asked, trying to pull his head back together. "Ron, where did you and Luna look?"

Ron, who was still in a staring match with Malfoy, looked at Harry now. "Just the usual haunts in Hogsmeade. No one had seen her, and she didn't overnight at any of the inns."

"And is there anywhere else she would have gone?" Harry asked. He did not like the alternative one bit, but no one could think of anything. "Then we'll have to wait and see if Dung had any luck."

"Yeah and what then?" Ron asked. "A few barely legal wizards versus a pack of hungry Death Eaters again. How is it your plans always end up that way?"

"I appreciate the vote of confidence, Ron." _His sister is missing; that's the only reason he's acting this way_, Harry had to remind himself.

"Sure would be nice if we had the _Elder Wand _right about now, but, no, you had to go and get rid of it!"

"Get rid of it?" Malfoy asked quietly, speaking for only the second time since his and Hermione's arrival. They all looked at him.

"I destroyed it," Harry said.

"How?"

"He snapped it in half and chucked it off a bridge," Ron croaked miserably.

"What? Are you insane? What if someone tried to put it back together?"

Harry remembered Ron's spellotaped wand in second year. _Well at least it wouldn't work properly._

"What if it's self-healing?"

_Oh. _"I didn't think of that." Harry admitted.

"You should try to find it. Destroy it then, if you wish, but do it properly," Malfoy said.

Harry smiled sheepishly. He went to the window and opened it. Luna halted her one-sided conversation long enough to look at what he was doing with interest. "_Accio Elder Wand,"_ Harry called out, brandishing Malfoy's-turned-his wand into the warm spring air.

They all waited in stilled silence for a minute, peering out the window. Nothing happened. "See? I told you it was destroy—" Harry's sentence was cut off by a hard object smacking against his nose with a crack.

Once he was no longer seeing stars, he looked around. Sure enough the Elder Wand, all in one piece, was lying innocently at his feet. Harry let out a full body sigh and picked it up. Luna went back to her ministrations.

A curt rap at the door let Harry know Mundungus had arrived. Harry went to step outside with Ron, Hermione, and Malfoy in tow. The stodgy, dodgy man was posing and preening like a spring chicken, so Harry knew he must have found something.

"What have you got for us, Dung?" Harry growled impatiently.

"Here now, no need for that tone. Not when old Mundungus has been risking his neck for your-lit'l-girlfriend." The last three words were accentuated by wagging a finger at Harry.

He prevented Ron from lunging at Dung.

"I found her," Mundungus said, and even Ron grew still. "She's got herself mixed up with a bad lot 'round Knockturn Alley. Seems she's helping them procure some par-teh-culars only a respe'able witch such as herself could get without gettin' asked too many questions."

"What sort of 'particulars'?"

"Potions stuff: all kinds of equipment and ingredients from shops all over. Last I saw, she was ducking into Borgin and Burke's," Mundungus paused for effect. "You 'eard of it?"

They all looked at each other with apprehension. Malfoy was the one to answer. "Yeah. We've 'eard of it."

"Well!" Dung said, clapping his hands. "If that's about all, I'll be going then." He turned, paused and turned again, looking for all the world as if a bothersome thought had just occurred to him. "Oh there's just the small matter of payment. Let me see here..." he opened his notebook to begin scribbling, "One hour of my prestigious services, meals, tip, tax, and toll. That comes to," he looked for all the world like he was thinking very hard. "Thirteen Galleons."

Harry could hear Ron gulp as he forked over the money. "Thanks Dung," Harry said.

"Always a pleasure, Mr. Potter. Always a pleasure." The man shook Harry's hand over-enthusiastically, then turned and strolled off down the hall.

"Thirteen galleons?!" Ron choked. "Are you barking?"

"I said he was good; I never said he was cheap."

Ron just looked defeated. Harry doubted he had had two galleons to rub together in his life, let alone thirteen.

"So, off to Knockturn Alley we go," Hermione sounded determined. Ron nodded his agreement.

"Wait!" Malfoy interjected. Ron's upper lip curled in a snarl. "Oh, just hear me out. I know that place like the back of my hand." Much to Harry's surprise, Malfoy had turned pleading eyes at Ron.

"And who studies the back of their hand day in and day out?" Hermione asked. The three boys looked around nervously.

"Look, Borgin and Burke, the shop's proprietors, are both in Azkaban. That means their sons are running the shop. From what I heard, it sounds like they are brewing mood altering potions."

"What like cheering potions?" Ron asked.

Harry had to resist the urge to cover his face with his palm.

"Sort of, but they would be much stronger and highly illegal. They may even be producing them in bulk... to sell."

"They're _drug dealers_?" Hermione's voice screeched with alarm.

"Er, yeah I think that would be the term familiar to… some people. Anyway, the ingredients they need are highly regulated by the MRC—Magical Reagents Commission. It would explain why Ginny is going all over finding them."

Ron was indignant. "If she's doing that, she's being coerced! They must have threatened to kill her or hurt the family or something!"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "They probably just put her under the imperious curse, Weasley."

"Oh, right."

"We do know she's particularly prone to mind control," Hermione reminded them, "after Tom Riddle's diary."

"So," Harry began, "Burst in, bust up illicit drug ring, save damsel in distress. Can do." Harry had already turned to head down the hall, but was stopped again when Malfoy put his hand on his shoulder.

"Wait! Yes you probably can do it, but it's extremely dangerous. If they think they're going to Azkaban, I assure you Gregor and Piers will be as dangerous as cornered animals. Our main goal isn't to break up their illegal operation, it's to save Ginny, so let's focus on that. It gives us the best chance of getting her out safely. The good news is they will need a continuous supply of this stuff so they have reason to keep her alive. That buys us some time."

"You're assuming being killed is the worst thing that can happen to someone," Hermione said quietly.

Malfoy looked for a moment as if he might go to her but then halted. "I know them from school, Hermione. They're not the type to delight in torture or rape."

Hermione nodded once and grew silent.

"We don't need much time, just a bit of organization. First of all, the premises is warded so that the front of the shop is the only part that can be accessed by non-purebloods. That's probably why she was the one they took. I'm afraid that leaves you out Harry, and Hermione."

Luna stood up then, her face bright with excitation. "I'll go!"

Harry shook his head. "It's too dangerous."

"I'm not sure you'll fit in," Malfoy said sadly. "Which leaves…" He trailed off, as he and Ron looked at each other.

"Great." Ron said under his breath.

"For Ginny." Harry reminded him.

"For Ginny." Ron agreed.

"The safest course of action will be to pretend to want to buy from them. I'll hold their attention while you go and look for your sister. From the back hallway, there are stairs immediately to the left. Third door on the right is a small room the keepers would sometimes sleep in if they were waiting for a late night delivery. That's where she most likely is being held. Once you have her, get out any way you can, without being detected. Any questions?"

Ron shook his head.

"Here, Ron, this will help." Hermione produced Harry's invisibility cloak from her purse and handed it over to him.

Malfoy's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't say anything. He then glanced over at Luna, who was trying to catch something invisible floating in the air. There was a certain confidence Luna exuded, and a certain eccentricity that might just pass for the evil of genius. _Having her along _would _legitimize the mission further_, he said to himself. "On second thought, Luna, you're coming with us." Malfoy said and she squealed with delight.

The three moved to go. Harry wasn't sure what prompted him to do it, but before Malfoy left, he slipped the Elder Wand into his hand. The Slytherin said nothing, but gave him an inquisitive look.

"Just keep her safe." Harry said.

Malfoy nodded.

"Let's go somewhere in Diagon Alley first, that way we can plan our approach," Draco said once they had reached the floo on the first floor. Both Ron and Luna nodded, Ron slightly more reluctantly. "Twilfitt and Tatting's" Draco said clearly and threw a handful of floo powder into the soot-stained fireplace before Ron could object.

* * *

Draco stepped out of the fireplace gracefully, dusting off his robes. One advantage to using Twilfitt and Tatting's, an elitist pure-blood store, as a rendezvous was that there was hardly ever anyone in it. Draco looked around as Ron and Luna stepped out of the fireplace. "Put on your cloak," he whispered to Ron under his breath.

The red head disappeared under the invisibility cloak. '_Why don't I have one of those?'_ he thought jealously.

"What would you like me to do?" Luna's voice was refreshing. Like citrus.

"Stay close and play along," he said while reaching out to her. She took his hand and stayed close enough to him that passers by would assume they were a couple.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy!" An exuberant wizard's voice called from behind them.

Draco turned. "Mr. Tattings!" his face effortlessly twisting into the courtly smile he knew so well as he bowed his head to the older man.

"Good to see you again, son. How is your mother?"

"She's well, thank you."

"Excellent. Oh! And who have we here?" Mr. Tattings pretended to just notice Luna, throwing his hands out with his fingers spread wide.

"This is Luna Lovegood," Draco said. Luna gave a small curtsy, and Mr. Tattings bowed back.

"Pleasure to meet you, my dear. Any friend of Draco's is a friend of mine. What can Twilfitt and Tattings do for such a fine young couple today?"

"Unfortunately we're on business, just passing through. Didn't want to traipse all the way through Diagon Alley; you know how it is these days."

This earned Draco a sympathetic look from the shop keeper. "Ah yes, well don't let me keep you! Come back through any time!" Mr. Tattings escorted them out the door.

Ron stumbled out just before the man shut the door behind them. "Blimey. He nearly took off my leg!"

"Well… he can't see you. Did you think clandestine work would be easy, Weasley?" Draco led them down a maze of passages. He kept his pace quick until they were near Borgin and Burke's. "Pretend that you like me," he whispered to Luna, putting his arm around her waist and pulling her closer.

"Oh that will be easy, Draco. I do like you," Luna explained, her perma-smile meeting his doubtful look.

Draco cleared his mind and raised his mental barriers. He focused instead on his companion and their cover story, and filled his thoughts with less than platonic thoughts about Luna, just in case they probed his mind. She was a very beautiful witch, with a perfect pedigree, so this was not difficult. He still felt slightly guilty, but put a half-grin, half-smile on his face anyway.

"You look like a baby that's just blown wind," Ron hissed at him.

"Ah ha ha!" Draco pretended to laugh at something Luna said. Luckily they had reached the shop, so the infuriating redhead had to remain quiet.

A bell chirped as the three of them entered. Draco approached the counter, but was quickly dragged off to the side by Luna. "Oh honey look! They have Dragonmods!" Draco looked where she was pointing.

There was a large bird cage in the corner filled with what looked like miniature dragons. They were moving around and interacting so naturally he realized they could not be bewitched. "What are they?" he asked. They must have been a new addition to the shop since he'd been here last, or he had been so caught up in his own misery that he didn't notice them before.

"They are dragons that are modified to only grow to about eight inches. Fully grown they're smaller than a baby dragon! Aren't they adorable?"

There were three miniature dragons in total. The smallest was an opaque blue color. Its scales were so small and delicate they looked like fur, and it appeared to be getting picked on by the other two. It kept getting showers of fire from its cage mates, followed by high pitched trilling that sounded eerily like laughter.

"Oh look at the poor little blue one! They are being so mean to him." A sad frown crossed Luna's face. It was the first time he had seen her not smiling. Draco wondered why such creatures were relegated to a store like Borgin and Burke's.

"Since they don't grow into full sized dragons they aren't illegal, but people tend to avoid them because they think they're… unnatural. Like they're invalid life forms, just because they're different."

The shop's young keepers entered the main show room then, one behind the other. "Maybe for our anniversary, darling," he kissed her hand, and her frown turned to a shy smile.

"Draco!" Gregor called, sounding genuinely pleased to see him. _Probably genuinely pleased to see my coin purse._

"Gregor! Piers! Good to see you." The gentlemen all gave curt nods to each other. Luna, probably feeling out of her element, adhered herself to her companion's side.

He put his arm around her again, hoping she would follow his lead. He rubbed her shoulder in what he meant to be a friendly gesture of comfort.

"And you've brought your… sister?" Piers hazarded.

Draco laughed a hearty, fake, patrician laugh. "Silly Piers, you know I'm an only child. Allow me to introduce Miss Lovegood of Devonshire." Piers made an elaborately complicated bow, and Luna curtsied politely. "How's business these days?"

"Oh you know how it goes. I'm sure it will pick up. Did I see you were interested in our Dragonmods, Miss Lovegood?"

"Oh yes, they're quite lovely."

Draco quickly steered the conversation away from her, hoping they would think she was merely a trophy he was parading around. For once her pleasantly neutral but inquisitive expression was an advantage; he soon had the full attention of both men.

"…and muggle-borns in most of the top positions in the Ministry!" Piers raged. Draco wanted to yawn but felt compelled to appear interested so they would not go back to interrogating his companion. "It's an outrage! Don't you think so, Miss Lovegood?"

_Darn the luck. _Draco turned to Luna, waiting nervously for her reply.

She had been looking at something in the window display. When she turned towards the two men her face had transformed. Though they were both a full foot taller than her, she somehow managed to look down her nose at them. "All the scouring spells in the world shan't cleanse it of its filth now," she said. Draco wanted to hug her.

"Well, enough chit chat," Gregors said, though his tone was pleasant. Are you buying or selling today?

"Buying."

"Well please have a look around!"

"Actually what I'm after isn't out on the floor."

Gregors and Piers looked at each other. "Oh?" Piers said, smiling widely. Draco decided he liked Piers the best. "What is it you're looking for?"

"I'm looking for a safe house."

Piers looked even happier. "And what makes you think we have one?"

"In a world of chaos, we seek shelter from those in control," Draco replied, using the verbal keys that had unlocked numerous back room doors and cemented countless illegal dealings for his father.

"Always knew you were a kindred spirit!" Piers said, animatedly slapping Draco on the back. "Right this way."

Piers led them to the back hallway. Draco followed closely, followed by Luna. She left a considerable amount of space between them, into which he could only hope Ron had interjected himself. Gregor brought up the rear.

They passed the stairs he had mentioned earlier, Luna pausing to adjust her robes a moment. For as tall and gangly as Ron was, he was completely undetectable as he slipped out of the group and went down the stairs.

Luna caught up with him, playfully grabbing his hand. He squeezed hers as they were brought into a small but sparsely decorated room. Its only contents were a tall bench along one wall which had all manner of bubbling, steaming, brewing, and spewing contraptions hooked together.

There was an acrid smell, to which Luna scrunched up her nose. "You need better ventilation," he said, letting go of his companion's hand to analyze their work. He moved along the bench, mapping out each instrument like a spy decoding a message. All of their equipment was new, and they clearly knew what they were doing. "Your parents get all this started, then?"

"Nah," Piers said, "we're expanding the business whilst they're away." Draco saw Gregor smack Piers upside the head out of the corner of his eye.

"Well best of luck with your budding business venture in these troubled times," Draco said like he was giving a toast. "On that note, I'll take a tenth."

Luna cleared her throat.

"Make that two."

Gregor relaxed markedly once the exchange had been made and their conversation returned to niceties. Luna looked like she might choke on the smoky air, but he wanted to give Ron as much time as he could.

Eventually their hosts herded them back through the hall and out to the showroom. "Well, pleasure doing business with you," Draco said, "as always." He could only hope Ron had Ginny, as communicating was impossible at this point.

He put his hand on Luna's shoulder and turned to escort her out the door. Just a moment before they reached it, the doorbell chimed. No one else had gone in or out. Draco turned. Piers had not noticed it, but Gregor's face had hardened, staring them down. "_Petrificus Totalus,"_ he uttered, and Gregor became entirely motionless. Draco had intended to freeze Piers a moment later, but it seemed the Elder Wand had taken care of them both at the same time. _I could get used to this, _he thought.

"What do we do now?" Ron was starting to panic, still hiding under the cloak.

"Do you have Ginny?"

"Yeah."

"Just go. I'll wipe their memories." He heard Ron's awkward footfalls as he struggled out the door with his sister, still hiding under the cloak.

"_Obliviate,_" he said, pointing the wand at Gregor. He repeated the action with Piers, just in case. They would remember everything up until the premature door chime. He then released their bindings and they started to come to. He put his arm around Luna again and they casually walked out the door. "Wait here a second," he said to Luna, leaving her just outside, and went back inside the shop.

"Er, what was that you were saying, Draco?" Gregor struggled to regain his hold on reality as the Obliviate spell coursed through his nerves.

"I said, 'I'll take the blue one.'"

* * *

Harry was growing antsy. He despised not being able to do anything when someone he cared about was in trouble. It was bad enough he couldn't do anything for Snape.

Hermione had taken to pacing the small hospital room, arms crossed over her chest.

After what felt like hours, there was a crack of apparation in the hallway outside. Harry jumped from his seat, and Hermione stood to face the door. He melted with relief when he saw Ron bring Ginny in. They both looked uninjured. Ginny smiled vaguely, looking at nothing in particular while being moved along by Ron. He sat her down on a chair.

"The curse is still holding," Hermione said.

"I tried to counteract it, but it was too strong."

"Let me try." Hermione positioned herself in front of Ginny. "_Finite Incantatum_." Ginny's expression did not change.

Harry was trying to push aside his despair when he remembered the Elder Wand. "Where are Luna and Malfoy?" He asked Ron.

"They were just a moment behind us," Ron said, quickly averting his gaze.

"What did you do?" Harry asked sternly.

"Nothing, I—oy! There they are." Ron indicated the door with both hands, half in surrender.

Sure enough the two blondes were entering the room. Though Luna was plainly dressed, Harry had always found her quite pretty. With her long wavy blonde hair and silver gray eyes, he thought the two looked like siblings.

"Let me see the Elder Wand," Harry said, and Malfoy handed it over. _"Finite Incantatum."_

Ginny's expression changed gradually. Her smile faded, and her eyes refocused. She blinked and looked slowly around the room. The girl's face grew confused and frightened and her eyes starting darting all around.

She took one shuddering breath, followed by another. Within seconds she had worked herself into a full-blown panic attack, sinking to the floor and gasping for breath like a dying thing.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all looked at each other, not knowing what to do. Harry was afraid anything he did would make it worse.

Surprisingly, it was Malfoy who acted. He knelt on the floor just close enough to hold her hand and started talking to her. "Ginny it's over. You're safe now. Ron's here, see? And Harry and Hermione."

Ginny continued to hyperventilate, eyes darting around the room. "You're at St. Mungos, in Professor Snape's room. You were here last night, do you remember?" Still struggling for breath, Ginny just nodded. Malfoy sat patiently, still holding her tiny hand. Several minutes passed while Ginny tried to pull herself out of the shell of panic.

"What—did—they—do—to—me?" Ginny finally managed in between gasps.

"They put you under the imperious curse." He answered. Ginny let out a whimper. "They are making illegal potions and needed you to buy some of the ingredients for them. Ron and Luna and I came to get you. No one got hurt, and you didn't do anything wrong." Malfoy's voice was surprisingly gentle and reassuring. Maybe Hermione was right about him.

Ginny looked up at Hermione, wordlessly asking a question only another woman would understand. Hermione shook her head ever so slightly. Ginny's breathing finally slowed, but still came out ragged. "Are you in pain? Do you feel that they hurt you at all?" Ginny shook her head, and looked at Malfoy for the first time.

"What are you doing here?" she asked with profoundly actualized confusion. She was back.

"I'm here to help."

Ginny broke out in hysterical laughter, taking her hand back to cover her face. Everyone looked at each other nervously as the laughter persisted. Suddenly she fell silent again.

"I want to go home," she said, voice quavering, as soon as she set eyes on her brother.

"Okay. We'll go home," Ron said while nodding, and helped Ginny up off the floor. He ushered her out of the room protectively, but threw a parting glance at Harry.

"You have an amazing aptitude for dealing with hysterical women, Drake," Hermione said with a relieved smile.

"Yeah well I've had a lot of practice." He did not elaborate, and Hermione did not ask.


	6. The Magic of Rare Earths

**Author's Note: **Thanks for the R and R! (Read and Review) =)

**Warning: **Mature content. Reader discretion is advised.

* * *

Chapter 6 — The Magic of Rare Earths

* * *

To Hermione's surprise, Harry had handed the Elder Wand back to Draco before they departed to finish their research, leaving Luna to keep Harry company.

"Hold onto this for now."

The taller wizard didn't take it at first; suspicious gray eyes looked like they expected to be the victim of a practical joke.

"It's always done well hiding in plain sight. Dumbledore had it for over fifty years, and very few people knew. Besides, everyone would assume the wand's true master would be the one wielding it. This is the best I can do to throw anyone off its scent until we can figure out how to destroy it," Harry had explained. When in doubt, confuse your enemy at least as much as yourself.

Draco just shrugged and took the wand, securing it in his sleeve sheath.

"Besides, it's only fair," Harry said with a mischievous smile, waving Draco's old wand in the air. The logic was sound, but she had a feeling he was thinking about more then he let on. "And keep her safe." She had barely heard Harry mumble this to Draco as they were leaving. She smiled to herself.

Her and the Elder Wand's new keeper apparated them both straight from the Hospital hallway back to the library at Malfoy manner.

"You realize this just paints a giant bull's eye on your back, don't you?" Hermione said to Draco as they moved back to their seats in front of the floating mass of colors.

"Then we'll have to keep it a secret, won't we?"

"I'm serious! We don't know who else knows about the Elder Wand."

Draco turned puppy dog eyes on her. "I'll be vewy vewy cawful."

"Shut it, ferret."

"Is that the only insult you can think of?"

"Well sorry if I haven't had as much practice coming up with them as you have." She aimed her wand at the map floating in the air, trying to unravel the tangled mess of spells in front of her.

"What are you doing?" Draco was moving around to get a look at her work from all sides.

"Stripping off each spell one at a time until I find the one I'm looking for. Unfortunately, since they are all tangled together, if I screw up it will probably all unravel and I'll have to ping you again."

"How exactly do you 'strip' them away?"

"I allow them to start to act on me."

Draco looked at her with alarm.

"Remember it's just a map of the Mark, not the Mark itself. And anyway it's not acting on me exactly. Instead of using my wand to conduct magic, I use it to hold some of my magic. Technically it's still acting as a conduit, just a very slow one. The spell sees the super-concentrated magical energy and is drawn to it. Then I can analyze it instead of writhe in pain, or whatever the spell calls for." The casual tone with which she described torture was telling of all the trio had survived over the years.

The wizard looked at her with awe. He was second to her in nearly every subject when they were at school, but she was so far ahead of him academically it made him feel a bit dim.

Hermione gave him a petulant look. "I know what you're thinking. I assure you I'm just furthering the research of other witches and wizards. We all stand on the shoulders of giants."

"It's still brilliant," Draco said. His praise broke her concentration for just long enough that the counterspell she was sending out snapped back, and the entire map shattered into a million colorful specks that melted into the air.

"You just lack initiative..." She rose from her chair and faced Draco, waited for him to move. "I need a new map," she explained when he just stared at her confused.

"Oh right." He sat on the table, once again unbuttoning his sleeve. The discomfort he had felt the first time she did this had vanished, yet the subtle intimacy of the act was still oddly thrilling to her.

"...or a motive," she continued her thought as her spell worked. "I've done all of this to protect my friends and society as a whole. Though, at first, doing better than you in school was motive enough." She laughed sadly at the far-away memory of her eleven year old self. "Now we are working to save our old Professor."

The witch's left hand was absently playing with the undone buttons on his sleeve. "And after this, I don't know. What makes you get out of bed in the morning?"

"Because I'm too much of a coward to kill myself?" Draco answered without thinking, and immediately regretted his words. He had meant it to sound like a joke, but she always managed to see right through him.

Her mouth formed a silent 'oh' as she reached up to touch his cheek lightly. He tried to look away, but her honey brown eyes trapped him like sap. "All finished," she said a second later, dropping her hands and returning to her seat. She once again made the colorful map appear, its numerous layers cascading delicately into each other.

Draco sat quietly so as not to distract her again. He felt awfully useless, making a mental note to get some of this 'initiative' of which she spoke.

They worked for hours, unraveling one spell at a time. Finding the counterspells had been the hardest task. She would sometimes try a dozen for one spell, check a reference in the Malfoy's extensive library, then try a dozen more.

Draco did his best to support her, mostly just acting as a sounding board. She had successfully worked through twenty-five spells. Finally her concentration waned again, sending more sparks in the air as the remaining spells dissipated.

"Dammit!" She collapsed into a chair.

"Hermione, you need to sleep. It's nearly two in the morning. It's been a very long day, and you're not going to get any further in this state." She wanted to object, knowing that time was ticking away Harry's sanity, but knew she'd just mess up again.

"You're right," she said but then remembered she didn't have anywhere to go. The Burrow was out of the question, as was another night on a cot in that stupid tent. She could ask Harry if she could stay at Grimmauld Place, but it lacked a horizontal surface clean enough to sleep on. She wanted to cry.

"What's wrong?" Draco asked softly.

"I just don't... have anywhere to go."

Putting her head down to sleep on the hard wood table in front of her looked more appealing by the second.

"What do you mean? Where have you been staying?"

The witch pointed at her small beaded bag.

"You've been staying in your purse?"

"In a tent."

"You're staying here."

"I'm not going to impose again."

"Stop saying that. You're not an imposition."

Hermione watched him for any betraying hint of annoyance. Instead all she saw was… well, stubbornness. She _was_ tired, but one thought did cross her mind. "Your mother."

"What do you think she's going to do? Slit your throat in the middle of the night?"

She averted her eyes. That is exactly what she had been thinking. "No…"

"Then you stay in my room, and I'll be just outside."

"I'm not going to put you out of your bed again."

"Then I'll have them set up a bed for me in the sitting room you infernally stubborn witch!"

"Pot, kettle."

"Jinx!" He cried. By now she had gotten used to the privileged heir calling his elves in this manner, though when Jinx arrived she was slightly surprised. Jinx was the youngest elf she had ever seen, and his large bulbous eyes blinked at both of them eagerly. "If you would be so kind…," Draco said with a meaningful glance in her direction. Hermione wanted to kiss him. "…as to set up a bed in my sitting room."

Jinx bowed once, and vanished. Her companion, once again, escorted her through the maze of a manor, and she, once again, got hopelessly lost. By the time they arrived back at his room, there were four house elves tucking blankets into what looked like a giant round ottoman in one corner of the room. "What's that?" She asked.

"A bed." Draco sounded amused.

"It's round."

"Think outside the box."

"And into a round box?"

He laughed and shoved her gently in the direction of what were to be her sleeping quarters again that evening. "Goodnight, Hermione."

Once inside, the door was closed behind her. A few burning candles were all that illuminated the room and her eyes struggled to adjust. The curtains, which covered one entire wall from floor to ceiling, were already closed. "May Wikket please help Miss dress for bed?"

Squinting, she saw the house elf then, standing on the ridiculously large bed. It was wide enough to sleep the entire Weasley family comfortably. "Oh, certainly."

Wikket picked up a nightgown she had laid out on the bed. It was white cotton and appeared to be floor length. She stripped down, trying not to be embarassed, and the garment hovered above her. She held her hands up, and it easily slid onto her thin form.

Hermione just barely had time to wonder who this had belonged to when Wikket answered her thought. "'Twas Mistress Elisabeth's. You would have liked her."

Wikket help up one bony finger to Hermione's temple, and suddenly her vision was filled with the image of a young woman. By her blonde hair, she could only be a Malfoy. She was running in a field and a boy about her age was playfully chasing her. Then she saw another vision of Elisabeth sitting at a long formal dinner table, slipping sweets to a much younger version of Wikket who was hiding under her skirts.

Hermione reeled at the elf's casual use of legilimency. She had no time to comment, however, as the bed was turned down and the elf disappeared with a curt, "Goodnight, Miss."

"I do have my own night clothes," she said to the empty air, unsurprisingly got no response, and got into bed anyway. She was too tired to think anymore, and her brain went right to sleep.

An unknown interval of time later, Hermione woke up. It was so dark when the curtains were closed that it was impossible to tell time in the room. She quickly drew them with a flick of her wand but immediately regretted it. It was definitely past dawn, and she reckoned that the sun had had a fair amount of time to terrorize the sky if the tears leaking from her blinded eyes were any indication.

She went to peek into the front room. The strange circular bed had been moved. It was now right in front of the bedroom door, as if guarding her from the Narcissa Malfoy of her nightmares. Draco was still fast asleep, curled into a tight ball in the middle of the bed.

Shutting the door, she retreated to the bathroom. Hermione relished the warmth of the shower, breathing in the steam. She felt unhurried for the first time in a year. Once she was clean and starting to prune, she ebbed the flow of water. There was a warming charm on the clean fluffy towel she grabbed.

She went back into the bedroom. Someone, she strongly suspected her shadowing elf, had made the bed and set out a dress on it that did not belong to her. Hermione thought back to the wardrobe she had seen earlier. The dresses in it must have belonged to Elisabeth. That did make more sense then the alternative.

Currently laying on the bed was a simple, sepia-pink frock. Its half-sleeves were capped with lacy cuffs, and the same lace accented the waist. The neck line was modest, but not prudish. She hesitated only a moment before putting it on.

A pair of grey leggings and flats from her purse completed the outfit. She went back into the bathroom to look in the full length mirror. "Miss must let Wikket brush her hair." The house elf appeared again, brush in hand. "'Tis a special day." Hermione wasn't sure what she meant by that, but she agreed.

Wikket was so gentle that she hardly noticed five minutes go by until the house elf declared, "Finished!" Most people trying to tame her hair took two hacks at it and gave up. She returned to the mirror. Apparently 'brush' meant 'perform miracles,' because her hair was now in flowing curls, partially secured on one side with a gemmed flower clip.

"Thank you!" She cried, wanting to squeal and hug the house elf. Draco hadn't warned her off hugging them.

Wikket bowed and said, "My pleasure, Miss, as always," before disapparating.

Hermione grabbed her bag and slowly cracked the bedroom door. Draco was still sleeping, and she didn't have the heart to wake him. Braving the wrath of Narcissa Malfoy, she let herself out into the corridor.

She tried to retrace the route they had taken to and from the library, but soon gave up. Finally she had to call for Wikket to help her. The house elf wrapped her tiny hand around one of Hermione's fingers, gently leading her through the manor.

Hermione quickly realized they were not going the same way they had the day before. Spotting a familiar door a moment later, she also quickly realized why. "Wait." Her small companion froze. Hermione's suspicions were confirmed as she opened the door to the room that lead to the cellars: the room where Bellatrix had tortured her.

She thought she might start to cry, or panic, or even vomit. All she could feel was sedate sadness, underlined with a stinging regret. She wished she had known Draco better then. She wished they didn't have to always be at each other's throats. So much could have been easier on so many people.

She closed the door, both to the room and on the memory, and let the elf lead her on in silence. Once she settled into their spot in the library she took out her notebook. She didn't have an active map to work on, so she catalogued all of the spells she had unraveled. She finished that in a quarter of an hour: still no Draco.

Moving into the stacks she began further research on the last spell she was looking at. It appeared to be the only one so far that the bearer of the Mark actually had access to; this was exciting enough. She suspected it was what allowed Voldemort's followers to travel as black smoke. This thrilled her to no end. She was deep in thought, nose stuck in a book, when Draco finally arrived.

He was impeccably dressed and groomed as always, but he looked like hell. "Sorry I'm late." The words sounded almost foreign. The man's eyes were tired and nearly tearing, and his normally confident walk looked defeated.

"Are you alright?" she asked, setting aside her reading immediately.

"Never been better." The weakness underlying each word, along with the house elf that was tugging his pant leg while looking up at him meaningfully and then over at her, indicated otherwise.

She walked over to him, placing a hand on his forehead. "You're burning up."

"No I'm not."

Hermione glanced down at the elf, who had his hand on the hilt of the tiny dagger she had seen yesterday.

She shelved her anger. It wasn't fair, and wouldn't help anyone right now. Instead she pulled out her wand and pointed it at Draco, whose eyes widened in surprise.

"_Imperio_," she said, watching her curse trap him. Being unpracticed in unforgivable curses, she knew hers was not very strong. If he had resisted at all she would release him, but somehow she sensed he would not. He did look a bit terrified.

With a wave of her wand she viciously vanished every scrap of fabric he was wearing, but changed the refractive properties of the air around his nether regions slightly to protect his modesty.

She searched his pale skin, unable to stop herself from again tracing her fingers over the cuts on his inner thighs. They looked much better. She thought she detected the slightest hint of arousal behind the censoring screen and blushed despite herself.

She found what she was looking for on his back left shoulder, just above the shoulder blade. He had an ugly mark that was short but deep, and had clearly become infected. "Why don't you take better care of yourself, sweetheart?" she implored, but his incapacitated state prevented him from giving an answer. She hadn't expected one even if he could.

She reached down to grab his dagger, and pierced the tip of her finger, letting a few drops of her blood fall into his cut. She muttered a few incantations over his wound and it became less purple, then less red, then began to sear shut. It was almost as powerful as the Essence of Dittany. At least reading all of those medical books had come in handy.

She faced him again. He no longer glanced about like a crazed animal; his eyes were just sad. With a flick of her wand he was fully dressed. "You've given me no choice," she said, before raising her hands from her sides slightly. His hands moved to mirror hers by her will.

"I call upon the Earths," she incantated on the inhale, making the words sound like a ghostly croak. Then she grew quiet. Draco saw her eyes roll back in her head and they were both stationary in the large room's enveloping silence for quite some time. Finally she opened her eyes, and a white wispy outline of her floated towards him. It seemed to settle itself into his skin. She released him from the Imperius curse, and he fell backwards into his chair. "Sorry," she said, reaching out to help him sit.

"Why did you call me sweetheart?" He asked numbly.

Of all the things, he would focus on that. "Because you have a sweet heart."

He continued to stare at her.

"My mum calls _everyone_ sweetheart, or dear, or sugar… baby doll… honey…" she rolled her eyes. "At first I was embarrassed by it, but I think it's part of what endears her to people. It instantly familiarizes and comforts them."

"What did you do to me?" He asked, still dazed, looking over his hands.

"I healed your cut."

"I meant after that."

She phrased her words carefully: "I made it so that, if you want to hurt yourself again, you have to go through me."

His eyes widened, and he looked like he was sorting through any number of things he wanted to say to her. He settled on, "I can feel it." He was rubbing his right palm, completely mesmerized. "How did you do it?"

"Rare Earths magic," she said, delighted when he nodded slightly in recognition.

"That takes twenty minutes?"

"You try talking to something that's four and a half billion years old. I've been researching how Harry's mother protected him from Voldemort all those years ago."

"She died for him."

"Lots of people died for those they loved. She was selfless _and_ clever. She used Rare Earths to protect him. The reason it worked is because that type of magic is powerful, but powerful in a different way than most, including Voldemort, think of power. It's grounded to the very Earth and has a nearly unshakable foundation. It was a subtle but powerful defense, if you will." She knew from experience with Ron and Harry that, when all else failed, relaying information through sports metaphors helped boys understand.

"I thought that kind of magic only works on people you love."

"Technically you can build a foundation on any strong feeling towards someone, even, say, revulsion." Draco looked stung by her words. She could have kicked herself. "But of course, Drake, I love all of my friends." She bent down to kiss him on the cheek.

Hermione produced a fever reducing potion for him to take, and ensured that he drank it before getting back to work. She nervously flipped through the book she was looking at, barely reading the section headings while stealing glances at her silent partner. He continued staring at his hands, then stared at nothing, but eventually seemed to come back to himself. "What… uh… what are you looking for?" he asked quietly. Hermione was relieved to hear him speak.

"I'm trying to unfurl the spell that got me caught up last night."

"What is it?"

She grew excited as she told him her suspicions about the spell. For as much as she hated flying, this mode of travel intrigued her: perhaps because the user was not relying on a skinny piece of wood or an animal that could get a cramp or drop a primary feather at any second. "Have you ever traveled that way?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"A few times."

"Will you take me sometime?"

Her exuberance penetrated even Draco's miry mind. "Sure." Hermione gave him a brief hug as he came closer to look at what she was reading. "Shouldn't you be looking at elemental magic?"

"Elemental magic? For a transport spell?" Some epiphany nipped at the edges of her brain, but refused to manifest itself. Luckily, Draco's mind was still working.

"Where there's smoke…"

"There's fire! Oh _those_ types of elements! Why didn't I think of that?" She returned a moment later with a new stack of books.

Draco slowly returned to normal in correlation with his fever breaking, and helped her with research. He was an invaluable partner: even better than her at identifying extraneous detail, and he could read at an alarmingly fast pace.

"How do you do that?" She asked finally. "Read so fast?"

"It's all about mind control."

She scowled at him.

"I mean control of your own mind: clearing it, closing it, opening it, sorting it, organizing it, etc. Something I learned when I learned Occlumency."

"Oh," she said. Another subject she was deficient at.

Her thoughts must have been written all over her face, because he briefly stopped reading to put his hand on hers. "I'm not an expert, but I can teach you what I know. If you want."

This thought cheered her up immensely, and they agreed. As soon as they had the time he would take her smoke sailing and teach her Occlumency.

* * *

They finally had a list of a few counterspells to try, so Hermione once again took out her wand and pointed it at Draco's Dark Mark. The map, which they were both viewing with increasing animosity, was expelled from her wand a few minutes later, and she quickly spelled away the layers she had already solved.

The next spell came off on her first try. They both let out a sigh of relief. After lunch they found the spell they were looking for.

Voldemort had used one of the older medicinal spells, probably figuring anyone trying to undo his work would assume he'd only consult books on the Dark Arts. It was also, in Hermione's opinion, the most efficient.

"It involves using a conduit again. Remember I had said there may be conduits hidden in the Mark that my spell wouldn't pick up?"

Draco nodded.

"Well, there must be."

Hermione insisted they go to the hospital so she could explain everything to everyone at once.

"_Finite Incantatum,_" she said to the partially deflowered map, which her wand then inhaled. "Mind if I borrow these?" She indicated some of the books splayed unceremoniously about the desk. Draco shook his head. She shrunk them down and stuffed them into her bag.

"Okay I'm ready." She took Draco's hand.

"I've fixed the wards so you can apparate in and out whenever you want."

She stared at him dumbfounded, still just standing there holding his hand. "I thought you only do that for family?" And as far as she knew, such a thing was permanent unless one burned down their entire estate, and then burned the ashes of its ashes.

"Of course, baby doll, 'Ohana' _means_ family."

She apparated them to St. Mungo's to hide her blush, eyes wide with surprise.


	7. It's Taboo, The Word Grokkikzump

Author's Note: Thanks for the R+R! =~)

Warning: Mature content. Reader discretion is advised.

* * *

Chapter 7 — It's Taboo, the Word Grokkikzump

* * *

Luna had stayed with Harry through the previous evening, talking quietly with him while holding one of Professor Snape's hands. At one point she pointed out that the beds of his fingernails had gone from slightly more reddish to slightly more purplish and declared that he was cold, heaping blanket upon blanket on top of him.

The witch's pleasant demeanor was a welcome distraction. Harry always admired her ability to float a conversation seamlessly between her favorite dessert (chocolate pudding) and her least favorite way to find corpses the Death Eaters had left behind in the cleanup after the war (naked with a stake through the heart). He also felt comfortable just sitting with her in silence, a most underappreciated trait. _Special, precious, unshakable Luna._

When it grew late she had to return to her father. She said he needed extra comforting after all that had happened. Luna was the one held prisoner, but of course she was the one doing the comforting. He invited her to come back anytime.

The next day Ron returned, once again fuming. This time he was complaining about his mother. Apparently she had coaxed the tale of her abduction out of Ginny, and was ruling the Weasley household with an iron apron. So soon after losing her son, Harry couldn't say he could blame her.

"You'd think she wants us to crawl back into her uterus! I can't sneeze without her running up to take my temperature!" Ron looked perplexed. "If I'm in the loo more than two minutes she's at the door asking, 'Is everything coming out okay?'" The tall redhead had pitched his voice high and crackly in a poor imitation of his mother.

Harry laughed. "Just give it time. She'll let up. You've all lost a lot," he said. Harry could empathize with both parties.

"Doubt it. It's only gotten worse."

"Then move out?"

"And go where?"

"You know Grimmauld Place is always open to you, Ron."

"Thanks, mate, but I don't think I can deal with Hermione right now." Ron was absentmindedly fiddling with his wand. "She is staying there, right?" he asked, trying to be inconspicuous, and failing miserably.

"I don't think so. She probably would have told me, and she didn't mention it."

"You don't think she's staying with that—"

"She's probably sleeping in that bloody bag of hers." Harry cut him off before his friend could work himself into full histrionics.

"Right," the redhead replied, but still looked pensive.

"Hello boys," a dreamy voice floated over to them from the door.

Bless her heart, Luna had returned. Harry cheered internally. "Luna!" he said, once again springing up. He escorted her to the chair he had vacated. "I'm so glad you came back!" She always had the most impeccable timing.

"I just wanted to check on you all." She looked up at the boys towering over her, then at the sleeping Professor. "Oh he's quite warm now. We can take the extra blankets off. You shouldn't be talking harshly in here in front of him, you know," she stated in the same tone, turning towards them and dipping her eyebrows down slightly at the center.

"How did you—"

"Trogglefrots," she said, as if the answer should have been obvious. "They feed on anger, and make it hard for everyone else to breathe. They've been known to suffocate entire rooms full of people! Didn't you know?" She had gotten up to clear the mountain of blankets off Snape, and was now swatting at the air above him.

"Er, no." Harry opened a window, helpfully wafting the trogglefrots out of it. At least he hoped so.

"Sorry." Ron hovered awkwardly, wide eyes, taking what he evidently thought would be calming breaths. _He-he-he-hoooo-he-he-he-hoooo._ He sounded like a woman in labor.

Hermione entered then, followed by Malfoy. Ron's eyes widened, and his laborious breathing intensified.

"Tell me you have good news," Harry said, then paused a moment. "I mean hi."

_He-he-he-hoooo-he-he-he-hoooo._

"Hello and yes we do." Hermione plopped down on one of the hard utilitarian chairs, pulling a few books out of her bag and unshrinking them.

"Did you ever think about leaving them a bit smaller when you unshrink them?" Harry asked. "It might be easier to fit them on one table."

_He-he-he-hoooo-he-he-he-hoooo._

"Tried. All the words get smooshed together," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "What's wrong with you?" she asked Ron. The awkward, hovering man in labor just shook his head and ran out of the room, crashing into Malfoy's shoulder on the way out.

"Long story," Harry said.

"Aren't they all?" Luna was looking curiously over Hermione's work.

Hermione began explaining the research they had been doing over the last day and a half, when they weren't sleeping or out looking for Ginny. At some point Ron floated back in, looking suspiciously serene.

As she explained, Malfoy pointed out things she had forgotten, or prompted her memory when it was off. Harry realized they must have been working very closely together. Ron would undoubtedly see this as well. His volatile friend, however, miraculously remained calm.

"So the spell we found uses a conduit in the Dark Mark," Hermione was saying, "the same one that can be used to reverse it."

"I don't quite understand. What exactly is a conduit?" Harry asked.

"Technically, anything that focuses or conducts magic. Wands are the most common form; they do both. You could make a conduit out of a tea cozy if you had the know-how. I've already told you how Voldemort used the Marks to store spells for later use. I think he did a lot of wandless magic through them as well, probably, at the least, anything that was directed towards the bearer."

Harry nodded. That made sense to him; it would make his followers all the easier to punish or praise.

"The spell that you appear to have used was linked to another. He never intended to use it as you did." Hermione hesitated, which made Harry start to worry. She sat gathering her thoughts, and it appeared not even Malfoy could help her with what she had to say next.

"There's a reason he called his followers 'Death Eaters,'" she said, her voice mournfully impassioned. "There's a reason they would torture people until they begged for death. It allowed them to meet the conditions to initiate a soul transference, which would then be passed on to Voldemort. Every person they killed made him stronger. The stronger he got the more powerful he became, and the more powerful he became, well… he was nearly unstoppable. I can only hope all those souls are at rest now that he is gone."

There was abject silence in the small room. Hermione looked absolutely devastated, and Malfoy put a comforting hand on her back. Ron was smiling widely, but biting his lip so hard it was bleeding.

"Well all the Trogglefrots are gone," Luna informed them. "Sadness scares them away."

Hermione looked inquisitively at Luna, then turned back to Harry. "There's something else. From what I've analyzed so far, only a few of the spells in the Mark can be utilized by the bearer. I thought I was going daft at first, but the more I looked it seems the rest of the spells can be utilized by anyone. That is, anyone that can speak Parseltongue."

"Why would he do that? It would make him vulnerable, wouldn't it?"

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, preparing to deliver more bad news. "Harry, when I told you second year that being a Parselmouth was rare, it appears that was a bit of an understatement. The language is all but extinct. There is not another person that can speak Parseltongue within a thousand miles."

"So it wouldn't have been much of a vulnerability," Harry supplied.

"Exactly. I was looking into this a while ago, but just put two and two together. According to the Ministry records, the few Parselmouths there were all suffered mysterious deaths as Voldemort was coming to power, but no one linked them together."

"So he was systematically eradicating them?" Harry sounded angry.

"I believe so. Whether it was to ensure his control of the Dark Marks, or for some other reason, I cannot be sure. What I do know is that you are likely the only one alive that could utilize them."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"The Dark Mark is just a tool, Harry. It is not inherently good or bad, and, like any potentially useful tool, I hate to see it wasted."

"You've got to be joking. You don't actually expect me to cast spells with that thing?"

She looked irritated. "If there are Death Eaters still at large, there is a chance you could trick them into coming to your call."

Well, that made more sense.

"That's all for another day, of course."

Harry let the information simmer for a moment in his head. "You said whatever spell I used was connected to others. Is there a chance it's connected to something you haven't looked at yet?"

"Virtually no chance. The spells were tangled, but each only to a few above and below it at most. I went a few layers further after I found what I was looking for, just to be sure."

Hermione seemed convinced. Still, 'virtually no chance' was by definition not 'no chance.'

"This is Professor Snape's soul we're talking about, Hermione."

"You think I don't know that?" she snapped.

Luna made a tut-tut sound, and suddenly a small ball of fire erupted from her hair.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Ron asked with a slur, his serene mask still intact.

"Oh, it's my new familiar." The blonde witch pulled a strange animal out from where it was hiding in her hair, perched on her shoulder. "He's a miniature dragon. Isn't he lovely? I've named him Blue, because he's blue!"

Luna had both of her hands cupped together, and the dragon, tail and all, fit in them fully. He was immediately reminded of the small bewitched dragons he and the other champions had drawn from a bag during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. The creature looked at Harry, cocked its head to one side, and reached out his nose towards him.

"Oh! He likes you, Harry," Luna said excitedly.

Well, that was one difference between Blue and the Hungarian Horntail.

Luna thrust her hands towards him, and he gently picked up the gangly creature. It curled into a ball in one of his hands and promptly fell asleep.

"Draco got him for me."

They all turned to Malfoy. Hermione tried not to look too jealous. Harry tried not to look too surprised. Luna smiled fondly at the blonde wizard, and Ron had a glazed look on his face.

"Well anyway, if you want me to go through the rest of the spells I will. It will just take more time." Hermione sounded exhausted, and he began to feel guilty.

"Do you know about how long?"

"A day probably, unless we run into more complications."

"Please," he asked his friend. She had never said no to him, and she probably never would. He made a mental note to get her a really, really nice present for Christmas this year.

"Of course, Harry." She began to pack up her books.

The hospital door burst open, and Healer Andrell stepped a foot inside, flourishing a massive tome in front of him. "I think I've found something!"

He looked at the variably sad, tired, angry, and jealous faces in the room, then down at the books still on the table. One of them was identical to the book he was holding. "And so have you," he observed. He stepped fully into the room. "Alright, out with it."

"We were just leaving," Hermione said, hastily packing up her last books. She reached her hand out to Malfoy, and they disapparated without even going into the hallway. This left Harry to explain everything to the overanxious Healer.

"What the hell is that?" Andrell yelped suddenly.

Harry was still holding out his hand, and it still contained a sleeping Blue. The dragon's light snores sounded like a faraway elephant trumpeting. Harry sighed. _This is my life._

* * *

"You seriously thought _I_ was the heir of Slytherin?"

Draco and Hermione had been swapping old school stories while they took a "sanity break." His words, at his insistence. He had taken it amazingly well when she told him they had used Polyjuice Potion to spy on him, probably because she also mentioned how she turned into a cat and was in hospital with a tail for a week afterwards. They both had a good laugh. "If I were the heir of Slytherin, then my father would have been too, and he could have just opened the Chamber."

"Well we didn't think about that. We were twelve after all."

"Why didn't you just use that bloody cloak to spy on me?" he asked.

"Well the potion took a month to brew, but even if we followed you around that entire time there was no guarantee we would catch you talking about it."

Draco regarded her. "Are you sure you were sorted into the right house?"

They were walking through the maze of the estate. Hermione had told him he didn't need to avoid the cellar entrance, so she was finally getting her bearings.

"Can you imagine if I wasn't? Ron and Harry hunting horcruxes alone? We'd all be dead or Death Eaters." They were both able to laugh at this comment. Maybe the wounds of war _would_ heal eventually.

The Manor's walls were covered with paintings. Most of their inhabitants gaped at them as they passed but didn't make disparaging comments. There were even a few who greeted them politely. At the end of the hallway was a prominently lit painting of a beautiful young woman she recognized immediately. "Elisabeth," she breathed.

"How do you know about Elisabeth?"

Hermione grew intensely uncomfortable. "Um… I'm wearing her clothes." Her friend just gave her a curious look. "I'm so sorry! I didn't think to ask. Wikket brought them to me, because she didn't think I had anything else. That was incredibly thoughtless of me!"

Draco cut her off by placing his hands on both her shoulders. "It's fine. Elisabeth has been dead for nearly a century; I'm sure she won't miss them. Besides, from what I understand, she left everything to her house elf when she died."

"Wouldn't leaving her clothes grant the elf freedom?" Hermione asked.

"Except that freedom was never hers to give. That is the right of the patriarch of the family." He held his hands up in surrender to her scathing glare. "Hey, lady, I didn't make the rules. My point was, those clothes are hers to give or lend to whomever she pleases, so please don't worry about it."

Hermione nodded, approaching the painting hesitantly. Elisabeth had gotten on her knees, peering out of the painting to get a better look at Hermione. She looked like she was trying to solve a riddle. "Who was she?"

"My great-grandfather's sister on my father's side. She died when she was our age. You would have liked her."

"So I hear."

They moved into a side room. It was a small, poorly lit, and probably the most bedraggled thing she had seen in the entire manor. There were benches with deep scars in them. The coat rack, predictably, contained coats, but a variety of other clothing hung from it as well.

On one wall hung the strangest collection of photos she had seen yet. They were behind glass and had names listed like family photos, but they were all pictures of animals. She squinted at the one in front of her: a sheep, a bear, and a goat. The sheep and goat stood swaying in time together, and the bear, who had a top hat, was flipping it on and off and dancing on his hind paws while brandishing a cane.

"What are these?" she asked.

"Oh, sort of a family joke. Most of us are animagi; we call these our _other_ family photos. We would tear up the house if we went traipsing through it all the time so we use this room as a go-between. That's all great-grandpa grizzly bear." Draco pointed at the marks on the benches.

Draco opened the antiquated wooden door. It looked like it had been ripped off its hinges by brute force a few times, and then reattached ad hoc in preparation for the next time in would be ripped off its hinges. She took a heady breath of the lovely, allergen-ridden spring air and sneezed. A realization coalesced in her mind. "Wait —You're an animagus."

"Yes."

"What do you turn into?" Hermione asked. Yet another thing she couldn't do.

He squinted into the sun. "Uh... I'll show you some time. Do you trust me?" She nodded. He put one hand around her waist and pulled her close to him. "Hold on tight," he whispered, his breath tickling her ear and sent shivers down her spine. Her eyes drifted shut.

She felt like she was floating. His warm body was still pressed close to hers, but she felt like she was free. A bird squawked in surprise right next to her left ear and her eyes popped open. The startled bird grew smaller as they soared away from it. She really was floating.

She enjoyed the subtle weight of the moist air at altitude. She watched the miniature land below her.

They stayed near the Manor, which somehow looked bigger and more imposing the higher they went. Draco also took her over a thick forest nearby.

All too soon they landed. She gave him a quick squeeze and a heartfelt thank you. "Again soon?" she begged. He smirked and nodded.

They were soon settled in the library again, and Hermione was feeling refreshed. She quickly produced the map of spells they had yet to riddle out.

Both of their spirits rose even higher when most of the remaining spells were easy to pick apart. Voldemort had stored all manner of manipulative spells in the Mark. They must have made sense in his sick and twisted mind, but Hermione tried not to think about it too much.

She immediately got stuck when she tried to take off the last spell, so they agreed to tackle it after a hasty dinner. Hermione thought they might never eat she didn't keep reminding him that food was helpful, if not vital. No wonder he had slowly waned over their years at Hogwarts—not that she noticed.

She had another go at the last spell, feeling it latching onto her wand as she triggered it. Once it was in place, it just sat there doing nothing, as if mocking her. "It's just not doing anything!" she cried in frustration, her teeth grinding together.

"Maybe there is a time aspect. Let's try to wait it out," Draco said.

Hermione didn't have any other ideas, so they waited. Simply holding the spell did not require as much concentration, so Draco started a game of wizard's chess with her. She lost spectacularly. "Don't worry, you're still better than Voldemort. I had to start letting him win after he cursed my eyebrow off that one time. What is it?"

Hermione was paying full attention to her wand again. It had pulsed, and she got the distinct image of the two of them in the Library in her mind, as if watching a few seconds long video of the two of them sitting here talking. "Something triggered it," she said quietly. They waited in hushed silence, but nothing happened. "Maybe something you said. Say whatever you said again."

"Okay but I'll feel like I'm repeating myself."

Hermione playfully bopped him on the head. He repeated what he had said. She saw the image again the moment he said "Voldemort."

"Oh! Oh my!" she exclaimed.

"You don't say," Malfoy said, with one raised eyebrow.

"It's the Taboo! Voldemort put a trace on his name, so that the location of anyone who spoke it would be revealed." Another mental image of Malfoy Manner had pulsed in her mind. It was already getting annoying; no wonder none of his followers wanted anyone to say his name.

"Great! How do we get rid of it?"

"No idea. By all accounts he invented the spell himself. We'll have to replicate it before we can destroy it." She slowly released the spell from her wand and the innocent crimson wisp went back to hovering in the air.

Hermione set her wand down. "Let's think. This is the _very first_ spell he set into his followers: the entire foundation of the Dark Mark. He must have been tracking his name for far longer than we ever imagined."

She went away and returned with another giant stack of books.

"This is going to be a long night."

* * *

They had again worked well past midnight. Hermione had laid her head down for "just a minute" and Draco ended up carrying her upstairs and tucking her into bed.

The next morning they immediately got back to it, shoveling breakfast into their mouths as they worked.

"It has to be a word absolutely no one else will be saying," Hermione explained, as soon as she was ready to test the spell she had pieced together.

They both thought intensely. "Could it be a made up word?" Draco asked.

"I don't see why not."

"How about… grokkikzump?"

"That's just a collection of sounds you've mashed together."

"Isn't that all words are?" he countered.

"Point. Grokkikzump it is. Let me see the Elder Wand."

Draco pulled the wand from his sleeve sheeth and handed it to her. She held it in front of her silently, but she had an intense look of concentration on her face.

At first nothing happened, but eventually a ball of blue lightning formed. It was no bigger than a snitch at first, and swirled in a mass in front of her. It grew and grew until it was at least a foot across. She reached out to take it in her hands, drawing them out slowly to expand it. The magnificent cloud turned as she rotated her hands and exploded violently as she abruptly snapped them back.

He swallowed thickly, staring at the tiny witch in front of him. He had only ever seen Voldemort or his Aunt do magic like that, and, in truth, it frightened him. Hermione was intently studying her hands.

"Erm, did it work?" he asked.

"Grokkikzump! Ouch!" She teetered ominously and felt around for a chair to pull underneath her.

"You okay?"

"My hands are burning. Lightning hurts." She pouted at him adorably, and his heart melted ever so slightly.

He looked at her palms, which were indeed scalded bright red from handling the raw energy. "Wikket!" he said, and the house elf appeared. Wikket applied a cooling salve and bandaged Hermione's hands, performing a few healing spells to expedite the process.

"_You're_ the field medic?" Hermione asked the elf, who was handling her hands like they were thin blown glass.

"Yes, Miss," she said, and vanished a moment later.

"Well I never want to do that again." Hermione examined her palms.

"You'll get calluses, and it will be easier next time," Draco assured her. "Bellatrix said it was like breaking in a new pair of shoes." He immediately regretted speaking his Aunt's name when Hermione flinched, as if struck.

"More like a new pair of shoes break you in," Hermione mumbled.

"So did it work?" he asked again.

"Oh, yes."

"Brilliant!"

"Gave me a splitting headache."

"Not so brilliant."

"Dispelling it will be easier." Pointing her own wand at the last smoky red ringlet floating in the air, Hermione dispelled it in an instant. She looked ready to cry with relief. "We should get to St. Mungo's straightaway."


	8. Shake Dreams From Your Hair

**Author's Note: **Thanks for the R + R! ^.^

**Warning: **Mature content. Reader discretion is advised.

* * *

Chapter 8 — Shake Dreams From Your Hair

* * *

After Hermione explained all she had discovered to Andrell, Harry thought the older man might propose to her. At the very least, try to recruit her to their Research and Development team.

When she returned early the next day, she handed Harry a slip of parchment. "That's everything you have to do. You must follow the instructions to the letter, and we should probably practice the pronunciations of the incantations."

Harry had a nurse collect Healer Andrell, who had insisted on being present for anything he and Hermione tried on his patient. He supposed that was not an unreasonable request; they were just so accustomed to relying only on each other. Once the healer arrived in a swirl of red robes and smiles, Hermione began coaching Harry.

"…and the final incantation is _Animus Restitutum_."

"_Animus Restitutum," _Harry repeated carefully.

"Perfect. Don't forget you'll need to say everything in Parseltongue."

"_Animus Restitutum,"_ he said again, this time in Parseltongue.

Harry shrugged. It sounded the same to him. "I guess we may as well begin," Harry said, looking at Andrell for permission. The Healer nodded, and Hermione started putting protective enchantments up around the room.

"I could have just put a sign on the door," Andrell crooned through his teeth while bobbling his head about.

"Just in case." Hermione said with a knowing smile and got up to stand next to Malfoy. His presence seemed to soothe her.

_Oh the times, they have changed_, Harry thought to himself.

Ron had not yet returned that day (Harry suspected this was Mrs. Weasley's doing), and Luna was helping her father start up the Quibbler's printing presses again. It was probably for the best that only three people were looking on as he tried to invoke magic he could barely understand.

Harry gently pulled back the fabric covering the slumbering man's Dark Mark. He held out his wand and touched it to Snape's forearm. Luckily the "ritual" was short, so he didn't have much to screw up. He gained access to the "conduit" by _demanding_ access to the Professor himself. It was strangely intimate and very domineering, indicative of who Voldemort was, even at the age he started recruiting. The remaining incantations were easy, thanks to Hermione's tutelage.

And the moment the last sound of the last syllable of the last word of the last spell rolled off his hissing tongue, he fainted dead away.

* * *

"Well this is boring as hell," Severus sighed.

"Professor?" A voice called from right next to him.

"Potter?!" The once arrogant face now held only concern, and his haunted eyes were unnervingly affectionate. "What are you doing here?"

"It's time to wake up."

"Wake up? Are you mad? I'm dead, you idiot!"

"Not quite. I saved you."

"Why would you go and do a bloody stupid thing like that?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time!"

Severus looked around him. "Where the devil are we anyway?"

Harry looked over Severus' shoulder, then refocused on him, a strange sappy smile now plastered on his face. "Where would you say we are?"

"It looks like Schwarzwald… The Black Forest in Germany. Except ... bright white."

"It's lovely." Harry started to wander around, hands in his pockets. Twigs snapped beneath his feet as he walked, and Severus watched him with disbelief.

"You're not dead," Severus observed.

Harry shook his head. "Nope."

"The Dark Lord?"

"He's…. gone."

Severus grew cold at the hesitation. "He's been 'gone' before."

"Because of what he did, he will never be able to cross over." Harry's voice was laced with pity. How could the boy pity such a vile creature? "But I have it on excellent authority that he is no longer a threat to the mortal world."

Severus allowed himself to hope. "How are you here?"

Harry simply smiled. "I have a few theories. I'll tell you all about them if you come back with me."

Severus realized how weak he felt: like he might collapse. "I have a choice then?"

"We all have a choice whether to live, every day. It's just that not everyone sees it that way."

"You've spent too much time around Albus," Severus said in a dry tone.

The boy laughed. "Yes, probably, and yes you have a choice."

He considered his surroundings, and the boy in front of him, and everything he had mulled over the past—however long. Then Severus did something he never thought he would do again: he let his mask fall, as he did when he was dying—or whatever—in the Shrieking Shack. It therefore perfectly reflected all of the pain and sadness he carried with him, naked for Harry to see. For some reason he was not ashamed. "I'm so tired," he said.

The boy nodded with sympathy, but waited for him to continue. Even he knew that wasn't the real reason for his hesitation.

"I don't have anything to go back to."

Harry stepped up to him, grabbing his upper arms so tightly it probably would have been painful if he wasn't dead—or whatever. "More people care for you than you know: both dead and alive. They want you to finally live your life." Even his cold, dead heart could not question the steel in Harry's voice. "And I swear to you," he said, searching Severus's eyes as he spoke, "I will _always_ be there for you."

"You?" he said curiously.

Harry just nodded.

He wondered at that. For some reason, Harry had come here... to get him back, he realized. _But_... He was so, very tired, and the thought of going back, of facing those people again, overwhelmed him. He began sobbing. Immediately Harry reached one hand behind his lower back, pulling the other man into quite a tight embrace. Harry's other hand went to the back of Severus's head, which rested on his shoulder. He cried himself out there, holding the younger man to him with equal fervor.

For his part, Harry stroked his hair. "I know," he said simply. "I know."

When Severus's sobs subsided, he didn't pull away, deriving unexpected comfort from the embrace. Harry simply held him. Even when Severus mumbled, "How would I even get back?" into his shoulder, Harry moved his head ever so slightly to look around.

"Hmm... There are no trains. Maybe we just walk?"

His thought was interrupted as the distinct clacking of a metal cowbell came from nearby, followed by a braying sound. A tall gray donkey, its eyes alert and ears twitching, emerged from behind a tree. It had saddle packs that were stuffed to the brim, with several bells and beaded straps of leather hanging from them. It was fully outfitted to take a rider.

Harry gave Severus a dopey smile while slowly releasing his death grip on the man.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"It's your party." Harry grinned.

Severus rolled his eyes as Harry took his face into his hands.

"I meant what I said," Harry whispered mere inches from his face. _"Always." _

Severus stared at him, unfamiliar feelings beginning to pour out of his heart. He nodded.

"Enjoy your ride," Harry said, his eyes twinkling.

Yes, Harry had spent far, far too much time with Albus.

* * *

Severus regained consciousness all at once, but kept his eyes closed and his breathing shallow. He tried to ascertain what was going on around him, shoving his dream to the back of his mind for later analysis.

He was quite warm and in a comfortable bed. It seemed to be dimly lit, given what light he could see through his eyelids, and there were two voices talking in hushed tones. By the deep, even breathing near his head he gathered there was another sleeping personage next to him. He tried to move slightly, to see if his actions would result in any repercussions from whoever was awake in the room. Instead, it was his own body that protested. He immediately tensed, hissing as he felt shooting pains in his neck and head. Dear Merlin he ached.

Both of the people he had sensed rushed to his side, immediately laying gentle hands on him. _Okay, not captors_.

"Professor?"

His eyes flew open upon recognizing his once favored student's voice.

"Draco?" Snape asked, confused. He looked at the frizzy haired witch standing next to him. "Miss Granger?" _Why aren't they trying to kill each other? _"Did I get on the wrong donkey?"

The pair exchanged a worried look. "Everything is going to be fine," Hermione said gently, stroking his hand and glancing just behind him.

Severus followed her gaze to none other than H. James Potter sleeping away right next to him. "Eh… what happened to him?"

"He's just fainted. I'm sure he'll come to in a moment," she said with a reassuring smile.

When he tried to move his head to get a better look, a fierce stab of pain shot up his spine all the way to the ends of his hair, and he was nearly blinded.

"I'll go and get the healer." Hermione dashed off in a hurry. Draco took her place, but opted not to hold his hand. He felt the bed dip ever so slightly as the tall lanky boy perched on the edge.

A thought came to his head that moment, and he immediately tensed. "The Dark Lord?"

"He's gone for good," Draco assured him.

Severus reached out to him with every sense but touch, and was relieved to find his former pupil's heart still pure. Draco had never turned. He could have cried with relief. The words the boy had spoken hung in the air, and brought back memories of the dream he had had. Suddenly, he was remembering Albus.

"Oh god," he cried out, feeling like he was suffocating, a hand reflexively going to his throat. "I killed him."

All the events of that night came flooding back to him: most vivid of all the words that would haunt him for the rest of his life. _"Severus, please."_ Albus had looked so sad but determined, and so, so tired. He couldn't help the flow of tears that came, and he turned his face so Draco couldn't see him. Harry once again came into his view, and without thinking he reached his hand out to rest on his, feeling immediate comfort.

A second later, Hermione came in with a man who was evidently his healer.

The healer looked down at him kindly. "Hello Professor Snape. I am Healer Andrell." The man's reddish gold curls undulated incessantly, as if subject to a ceaseless wind.

Severus was mesmerized by it.

"You've been in my care for the last ten days, though I had little to nothing to do with finding your cure. I'll leave that to your students to explain. I imagine you are used to hearing extraordinary things from them."

Andrell looked Severus over as he spoke, waving his wand over him a few times. The slight traces of magic set his hair on end, but it was not painful. In actuality, it tickled quite nicely, not that he would ever admit that.

"You appear to be well on your way to a full recovery. I would like to speak with you alone, but that can wait. You were badly injured by the snake Nagini, do you remember?"

Severus nodded without taking his eyes off the man's hair, as one would with a particularly tricksy leprechaun.

"Very good. You will be here for a bit longer. Do you have any questions for me right now?"

In fact, Severus' mind swarmed with questions, but he could not pin down even one. He just shook his head.

"Very well. If you need me, send one of your companions after me. They certainly have no problems tracking me down, day or night!" The green-robbed man waved his wand over Harry briefly. "He should be awake any moment," he said dismissively, gave a departing wink to Hermione, and was out the door a moment later, taking his hair with him.

Silence settled over the room. Hermione stood against a wall near the door, studying her shoes. Draco was still sitting with Severus, but appeared to be speechless. "If the Dark Lord is truly gone, why is Harry still alive?" the bed-bound patient asked, staring directly at the witch on the wall.

Hermione looked up, realizing the Potions Master was speaking to her. "Oh, uh..." She went to sit further down on the bed next to Draco, who was also looking at her curiously. "From what I understand, when Voldemort cast the killing curse on Harry, it only killed the part of Voldemort's soul that lived inside Harry."

Draco's sharp intake of breath told Hermione he had finally put two and two together. She felt strange saying these words instead of Harry but knew he would want their Professor to know as soon as possible. "It nearly killed him, too. He said he had sort of a dream. He was at a bright white version of King's Cross station, and Dumbledore was there, and a sickly creature that Dumbledore said was the last part of Voldemort's soul. Dumbledore said he could board a train and came back to us or go on. By that point we still had a Horcrux and Voldemort himself to kill, so Harry came back."

Severus' brain went into overdrive when he heard Hermione's description of Harry's 'dream.' It was too close to the one he had had to be a coincidence. He tried to focus. "So they are all destroyed?"

"Yes, all seven. The diary and the ring were already destroyed," Hermione began, and Severus nodded his head impatiently. "A locket that belonged to Salazar Slytherin, a cup of Helga Hufflepuff's, the Lost Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw, the part of Voldemort's soul that lived in Harry, and Nagini was the final Horcrux."

He let her words flow over his tired soul and he began to relax for the first time in perhaps twenty years. "How?" he asked. Despite the contempt they had shown each other over the years, Severus had always had immense, if a bit begrudging, respect for Hermione's academic prowess, a respect that only grew now.

"Regulus Black gave his life to get the locket many years ago. Once Harry… saw your memories he just marched into the forest to give himself up. And Neville killed Nagini."

Severus raised his eyebrow in surprise.

"Tell me about it," she said. "The sword of Gryffindor presented itself to him after we had lost it to a turncoat goblin. It it even shielded Neville from Voldemort's killing curse. Anyway, I'm sure Harry would like to explain all of this to you himself."

They heard a small moan from the recliner Harry was resting in. A moment later emerald eyes popped open and locked with his. A confusing maelstrom of thoughts began to spiral out of control.

He could feel his heart pounding almost painfully. All he could do was stare at the boy, who also seemed agitated. Suddenly he saw a clear image in his mind's eye of Healer Andrell running into the room looking flustered. He thought he could hear the man's shuffling feet come to a halt, and realized this was happening in real time. Comparing the viewing angle of what he was seeing to the apparent direction of the sound, he realized this imagine could only have come from Harry.

Severus shook his head to right his eyes, but the image was still there.

He tried to clear his mind, and was relieved when Harry started doing the same. He carefully built the shield walls he had finely honed in his years of practicing Occlumency, pushing Harry out. Finally, there was blessed silence. He breathed a sigh of relief, and Harry slumped against the wall behind him.

The serenity lasted mere seconds. His barriers came crashing down and his thoughts were once again out of control. He began to panic. _'Calm down. Hermione said this might happen.'_ Harry's mental voice was clear and his thoughts focused. The only one panicking was himself.

_'Said_ what_ might happen?!'_ he hissed.

Instead of words, he caught a ball of information and feelings that Harry chucked at him. It took him a few moments to sort through it, but he quickly saw the picture of what had happened to him, and how Harry felt about it. _'And did she say how we are going to fix it?' _he bit out.

'_Er, no.'_

'_Lovely.'_

_'Be quiet a moment. I'm going to tell them what's going on before Andrell has an aneurysm.' _

Harry kept his eyes locked on Severus. Only his mouth moved when he said, "Shut up a minute you lot." Severus focused on listening to Harry, and Harry was focused on what he was saying. His words had also made everyone else in the room quiet. This was much more manageable. Only then did he realize he was squeezing Harry's hand.

"Thank you," Harry said. "Hermione, what you said about the healer and the patient who were permanently linked after the soul shepherding, did it mentioned any way to undo it?"

"No," she said, "that is part of why it was eventually forbidden."

Severus felt Harry's internal sigh, but the boy did not get frustrated. "What about any ways they managed the situation?"

"Not that I recall, but it was a court ruling. That information would not have helped the plaintiff's case so it may have been thrown out of the official record for some reason. It may be in any medical records on them."

"Good... that's good," Harry said evenly. Severus would never have credited him with such self-control were he not witnessing it firsthand. "That may help. Can you go and look?"

"Sure."

Several seconds passed.

"Like… right now?"

"Oh! We'll head to the Manor straightaway."

Andrell's chest puffed up. "I doubt even your library could rival ours as far as the medicinal field."

Hermione nodded. "If you'll let us look through it?"

"Only a fool would ever decline your help, Miss Granger," Andrell said. Severus was glad the man had at least worked that much out and decided he must be an alright healer after all.

"Perhaps it would be best if you all went. I think the quieter it is in here the better." Harry spoke with just the right tone of begging in his voice so as not to offend anyone.

'_When did you get tact?'_ Severus thought.

_'__I've always had tact!' _Harry thought at him indignantly, but the slightest grin appeared on his face.

He waited for a response but couldn't hear anything. He could only hope they had all nodded. "Would you like to come too, Harry?" Hermione asked. "Maybe distance would help?"

Severus had no idea what to say, so he left the decision to Harry. "Worth a shot." Harry slowly tore his eyes away from Severus. It was oddly uncomfortable, and only grew more so as he reluctantly let go of Harry's hand.

_'Think at me if you need me.' _He heard the smile even in Harry's internal voice.

The group departed slowly, and Severus grew uneasy. At first he was agitated, and then he realized he was lonely. Neither of these were foreign emotions to him, so he dismissed their pain as acceptable.

It hurt to move his eyes, and he was getting splitting pains on one side of his head. Well, he'd had headaches before.

His muscles began to tense, and his breathing sped up. He started seeing lights flicker in front of him, and then darkness swept across his line of sight as an invisible force pulled him downward towards oblivion. '_I need you! I need you!'_ he thought as hard as he could before he passed out.

He regained consciousness before his head even hit the pillow to see Draco and Andrell helping a bedraggled Harry into the room. "Well that didn't work," Harry said, easing back into his chair and wordlessly taking Severus's hand again.

Severus felt better immediately. In fact, it didn't even hurt much to move. He realized he must be on diffusive potions for pain. _Just what I need, drugged up in front of my students._

_'I'm sorry I didn't even think, Professor.'_

Severus mentally kicked himself. Of course Harry had heard his thought.

_'Is there anyone else we can call for you?'_

Severus thought for a moment about Minerva. He frequently met with her on Order business when Dumbledore was unavailable, and they had formed a working friendship over the years. But then he thought of the last time he had seen her. She had thrown walls of fire at him and told him he was a coward in front of the entire school. Though he knew her hatred was fed by lies, her words had hurt, and their sting was not blunted with memory's repetition.

_'Professor McGonagall knows now what you sacrificed for all of us. _ **Nobody** _ thinks. you're. a coward.' _

Though unasked for, Severus basked in the relief that the sternly spoken gentle words provided, but only for a moment before he felt somewhat resentful. _'Will you get out of my head!'_

_'You get out of mine!'_

He tried to build his mental shields again, but they were shredded down as quickly as he built them up. _'As you may have worked out by now, Potter, there is no one else.'_

_'There was no one else you got close to at school?' _The boy asked. His tone was not harsh or mocking, it was not even particularly inquisitive, just infuriatingly calm.

He couldn't help it. His mind betrayed him, immediately thinking about Charity Burbage. He liked the sweet, unassuming witch the moment he met her. She could be a comforting presence in the teacher's lounge without saying a word, or she could carry on a conversation for hours. She always seemed to know which Severus needed. Like Dumbledore, she had died begging for his help. He violently pushed the image out of his head before he started to hyperventilate.

_'I'm so sorry. I had no idea,' _Harry said.

_Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. 'Dammit, boy, don't you know some thoughts are private?' _

_'I am neither a voyeur nor a boy. And I can't help it. You think loudly.'_

Severus tried to stop thinking, but moments later a flood of memories decided to punish this behavior. _'Either way, I don't need your pity.'_

_'This isn't pity, you idiot. This is love.'_

That was definitely not the answer he had expected. He looked at Harry. Meeting his eyes immediately made him feel better, but only seemed to strengthen whatever connection they had. This was how he knew that the not-boy was not lying. Harry was capable of so much love that Severus didn't know how he wasn't spontaneously combusting. Dumbledore was right all along. _Foolish sappy Gryffindors!_ He had to break their visual connection. _'I might go into sugar shock.'_

_'I choose to take that as a compliment.'_

_'You would.' _His mind swirled again at the thought of Dumbledore. He did not want to go down that particular memory lane again. He frantically tried to build up his mental shields, feeling Harry looking on in anticipation from his seat nearby. They still wouldn't hold. He poured all of the energy he could into them, willing them to stay up if only for a minute of privacy. He grew angry and frustrated at his continued failure. His heart was filled with despair as he imagined living the rest of his life locked to Harry's mind, unable to stray more than a few feet from him.

_'Would that really be so terrible?'_

Severus wondered if it was Harry or himself who had had that thought, as he felt his magic starting to spin out of control. He was going to go crazy. What if he could no longer keep anyone out of his mind? He wouldn't be able to retreat to the solitude that was his only solace for most of his life. Why couldn't he have just died? Even the vaunted control over his emotions that had saved his life for almost two decades as a spy was abandoning him. This wasn't happening. He couldn't push Potter out of his head.

"THEN JUST STOP TRYING!" Harry screamed; his voice had risen for the first time since Severus had woken. It felt like a mental slap: exactly what he needed to break his anxious cycle of thought.

Once Harry knew he had his attention he continued more gently. "The greatest thing you ever taught me was to sit in contented silence." His piercing green eyes were painfully close, and Harry squeezed his hand, reaching a hand down to rub his chest reassuringly. His voice sounded sad, almost pleading now, and he looked as if searching his face for an answer. "Aren't I also my mother's son, Severus?"

His chest constricted. There it was: the one thing that would forevermore make him move mountains, part seas, and throw himself in front of a killing curse if the occasion called for it. He felt a peculiar sadness when he thought of Lily. It wasn't quite like it was before he died—or whatever. It was blunted now. He was almost at peace with it. It felt like she was caring for him even after she was gone. He nodded his head once.

Harry seemed satisfied with this and went back to his seat. Even Severus was impressed at the speed with which the youth was able to clear his mind. He may have been an abominable Occlumens, but he wasn't lying about sitting in silence.

Not to be outdone by his student, Severus followed keenly. Even as his own mind strayed back to thoughts of Lily, or the war, or Dumbledore, Harry sat patiently and let him regain his focus without comment or critique.

It was enjoyable and unnerving at the same time. A mental battle of wits, but they weren't fighting each other.

Harry had been gone a year, but it seemed the boy had grown up about thirty. Maybe that was the unavoidable consequence of carrying out the task he was dealt.

He finally calmed his mind. They both sat quietly waiting for the researchers to return with news, and Severus belatedly realize Harry was tracing circles on the back of his hand with his thumb. He closed his eyes, and focused on that delightful feeling.

* * *

"Shake dreams from your hair, my pretty child, my sweet.  
And choose the day  
And choose the sign of the day—  
The day's Divinity.  
First thing you see."  
-The Doors, _Ghost Song_


	9. The Third War Begins

**Author's Note: **Thanks for the reviews! =]

**Warning: **Mature content. Reader discretion is advised.

* * *

Chapter 9 — The Third War Begins

* * *

Harry remained seated, legs tucked up underneath him, at his spot near the window. He took slow meditative breaths but was otherwise motionless. Draco, Hermione, and Andrell returned half an hour later. The healer looked even more enamored with Hermione. He pulled a chair close to the bed for her to sit on and beamed at her fondly. Severus, whose bed had been propped up slightly, turned with more ease than before.

"We have good news and bad." She had taken the preferential chair and was looking on at Severus with kindness he was certain he did not deserve. "We found their case, and there were several successful methods they employed to manage their condition."

"I take it that's the good news," Harry said without opening his eyes.

"About the extent of it." She started worrying at her lower lip.

"What else did you find, Hermione?" Harry prompted her gently.

"Well, I don't know how else to say this. The court case severely downplayed their condition. I'm guessing some of their testimony was thrown out for some reason. It sounds like it was as bad as the two of you are experiencing."

"And the very bad news?"

"The only thing that seemed to help them was Occlumency. I have no doubt you've been trying—," Hermione said abruptly when she saw anger spark on his face, "But just you alone wouldn't work. It says they both had to master the subject to keep each other out."

Severus's heart sank. He doubted he would ever say the words "Potter" and "Master of Occlumency" in the same sentence.

_Hey! _

"There's more. Their condition was definitely permanent, though as a result of it they ended up getting married and actually seemed to live quite happily… ever… after…," she trailed off, averting her gaze.

Harry opened his eyes now to smile at Severus, eyebrows dancing playfully. '_Don't even think about it' _the older man thought at him. Harry held up his hands in surrender. "Miss Granger, were you able to deduce anything about a need for proximity?"

"Yes. They had the same problem at first, but that seemed to decrease and all but disappear with time. It also appears it was independent of their Occlumenical powers."

"What sort of time frame?"

"The first few days they needed to be in constant contact. After that they stayed in the same town for a few weeks, and then the same country. Neither had a need to travel further than that, and they did not want to unnecessarily push their limits. Like I said they ended up growing quite close."

"And did the distance seem to affect their… link?"

"It's noted that it felt the same when they were at a distance, but they didn't experiment with raising and lowering their mental barriers. Once they were stable, they were content to let it be. I imagine neither wanted to cause the other pain."

"I see," Severus said. He felt Harry observing in the back of his mind, letting Severus come to some conclusion for the both of them. "Was there anything else?"

"There is an extensive record of the case up until their deaths. The healer remained a healer, and he worked right here at St. Mungo's. The rest of the record just indicates they were fine after everything got settled: better, even."

"It's settled then. I'll take another crack at Occlumency," Harry said.

Severus sighed. "Given that our sanity depends on it, I certainly hope you could muster more than a 'crack,' Mr. Potter."

"It will be done," Harry said with finality. "Just tell me what to do."

"I already did."

"Professor, we are both different people now. I know I can do this; you just have to give me a chance."

"An inspired speech, Potter, but since I am already in your head I cannot try to force my way into your head. Someone else will have to teach you." Severus felt Harry grow slightly embarrassed, and then mildly frightened. _'And unless all of your actions over the last year have been on the right side of the law, it should be someone _sympathetic_ to our cause.'_

"I don't know who could." Harry's voice had lost its luster.

"I can do it," Draco said from his forgotten corner of the room, everyone seeming to just remember he was there and turning their heads to look at him.

"Though you show a natural talent in this subject, your training is incomplete, Draco. I'm not sure that would be wise."

"It's complete. Bellatrix taught me."

Severus saw Hermione wince at the name, and felt Harry's anger rise. He briefly wondered what had become of the lunatic, but Harry's brain provided a mental image of her being sanded by a pissed off Mrs. Weasley. It was enough to make Severus smile. "Very well, we should begin immediately. It would be best if the room were as vacant as possible." His eyes fell on Andrell.

"Right, of course! I'll be on call should you need me. Miss Granger would you like to join me in the lab? I'm working on a very promising nerve tonic."

"Oh I really must be going," she said, and his face fell.

"Another time, then."

"Of course." He scurried out of the room.

Hermione stood up uncertainly. "I guess I'll be going too."

Draco put a hand on her waist, leaning in closer than was strictly necessary to speak softly into her ear. "Go home and get some rest. I'll be there as soon as I can."

She smiled, nodded, and stepped into the hallway to disapparate.

"Draco, are you cohabiting with Miss Granger?" Severus asked with raised eyebrow.

"I simply invited her to stay at the Manor as an alternative to sleeping in a tent," he said.

Severus looked at Harry. This was clearly not news to him, and he didn't seem to be upset by it. "The Manor? But she just apparated."

"I augmented the wards. Can we get started?" Severus' eyes grew wide, but he refrained from commenting—for now_._

"Whenever you're ready," Harry said, and cast a Muffliato spell at the door.

Severus gave him an indignant look; why had he ever left that damn book lying about? "First, it will be beneficial for you to see what I do to throw someone out of my mind, and how I build up barriers quickly afterwards," he said with feigned confidence. He had certainly never taught a three-way lesson before—the need had never arisen—but years as a spy and teacher had taught him to always appear to know what he was doing, even if he had to bullshit his way through a lecture. He looked at Draco and nodded.

The boy pulled out his wand and pointed it at him. Severus barely had time to register what Draco was holding in his hand before the boy shouted, "_Legilimens!"_

He felt Draco enter his mind, which was sore from trying to push Harry out all day. Draco saw the last image he was thinking of: Albus falling dead off the Astronomy tower. Seeing the Elder Wand in the younger wizard's hand had immediately triggered it. Severus quickly identified Draco's probing spell and pushed at it. Unsurprisingly he met heavy resistance, but he had always been able to throw even the great Albus Dumbledore out of his mind when he wanted to and soon Draco was gone.

He then started to build his mental shields. This time he did not grow agitated as they unraveled, simply kept knitting them back up for a minute to show Harry how it was done.

"Don't worry about barriers yet. Just focus on pushing Draco out of your mind."

Draco stared at Harry, a look of determination on his face. Harry was completely serene, evidently having decided at some point that his rival was actually trustworthy.

"Hermione trusts him," Harry said to his unasked question, "And I trust her judgment."

And there it was: on the witch's word alone Harry had dropped years of animosity and rivalry like a rotten Bubotuber and put his complete faith in Draco.

It was just like Albus when he decided to trust someone, and even more intoxicating.

"Thanks Potter."

Harry nodded his head slightly. "Malfoy."

The words were the same, but they sounded different. In particular there was far less hissing and spitting around the "P."

"_Legilimens!"_ Draco said, wand pointed at Harry.

Severus watched Draco play merry cob with the brunette's mind. He swarmed carelessly from memory to memory, but where Severus had tried to extract the worst Harry had, Draco looked only for the best.

They all saw a memory of Harry sitting with his friends in what could only be the Gryffindor common room. Ron and Hermione sat on a couch, Harry had his back to the fire, and they were all laughing.

Next there was a much younger Ron saying, "Happy Christmas, Harry," which was followed by Harry's surprise to see that he had gotten presents. Draco and Severus watched him open them with glee, even his Aunt and Uncle's fifty pence.

Harry's ecstatic face looked much the same as it swirled into him watching a massive snake slithering away from him, playfully nipping at people's feet. He recognized Petunia as the woman screaming nearby. The man could only be Harry's uncle. Draco abruptly cut the memory off when Vernon turned murderous eyes on Harry.

Severus watched these memories, watched Draco moving through them, and watched Harry trying to push him out all at the same time. He had to admit this was an exceptional way to teach Occlumency: he could now clearly see why Harry was failing.

"You have to grab hold of Draco's spell before you can push him out," Snape said.

Harry trounced furiously after the boy. Every time he seemed to catch Draco's spell it would slither away. "He's too slippery!"

"Indeed he is." Severus reached out to see if he could catch the blonde's probing spell himself, and amazingly he succeeded. He mentally 'handed' control over to Harry, who was then able to push him out.

They all looked at each other. Harry was breathing heavily, though he appeared more invigorated than agitated.

"That is a good start."

"Let's do it again!" Harry said excitedly, and slightly out of breath.

"I think you should take a break." Severus hesitated.

"Seriously?" Images of Severus torturing him to the point of exhaustion during their first ill-fated lessons came to mind, streamed there in living color by Harry himself.

Severus cleared his throat. "If you think you're okay to continue then by all means..."

Harry nodded at Draco.

"_Legilimens."_

Harry kept Draco on the run and unable to pull up a specific memory. After a few minutes of struggle, Harry caught him and threw him out.

"You're not entirely hopeless after all," Severus drawled.

Harry smiled serenely while catching his breath. "I think that's enough for today. Severus is tired."

"Am I?" Suddenly, he felt extremely drained. His eyes narrowed as Harry let down his bed to lay flat. "It would appear you are right."

Harry and Draco watched over him as he was abruptly pulled into unconsciousness.

* * *

Hermione woke to a gentle tapping on the door. She sprung up and opened it to let Draco in.

"Did I wake you?"

"I was just waking up," she lied. In truth, she was still in war mode, and sleeping at the Manor without Draco in the next room didn't help matters. She had slept in the clothes she was wearing —another outfit from Wikket, and she tried to smooth them out as he led her to the round table in the next room. "So how did it go?"

"We made progress, and they didn't kill each other. I'd say it was a success."

Hermione watched him as a grandfather clock near the fireplace rang out the time. It was already three in the afternoon. "I didn't realize how late it was. You were at it for quite some time."

"I stayed to do some more research."

"Oh? Did you find much?"

"I have a few pet theories, but nothing concrete."

"Ah, I see." Hermione said. She was sitting straight up in her chair and had one hand perched daintily over the other on the table. Draco was looking at her appraisingly.

"Knut for your thoughts?" he said.

"Oh Drake, only a Knut?"

"Whatever you'd like then." He waited patiently for her to answer.

"I just never thought much about ending up on this end of the war... alive and all." She was staring at her hands, but her gaze was unfocused. "I feel lost."

"Ah," Draco said, "Having survivor's guilt?"

"Not exactly. I just feel like—what could be more exciting than being on the run, hunting down the most dangerous wizard ever in existence with the fate of the entire world on your shoulders? I feel like, no matter what I do, the rest of my life will be boring."

"Present company notwithstanding of course," he supplied for her, but held up his hand before she could speak. "First of all, you had two other very capable wizards to help share that burden." Coming from him, the reminder was chastising. "And second, I suspect you will continue to find interesting times for as long as you continue to associate with them."

"You do have a point there."

"And let me ask you, what was it about all this that you liked? Was it the danger? The uncertainty? The camaraderie? Was it this?" He grabbed onto her left arm where her scar was, almost painfully, and she quickly pulled it back.

"No of course not!"

His eyes were suddenly filled with a furious passion she had not expected. "Then what? Tell me."

Her brain whirled. "I…I liked solving the mystery," she said. "And knowing we were the only ones that could do it."

"So find a job where you can do that. The stakes may never be quite so high, but if that's what you truly loved about it, you'll be happy."

His logic seemed correct, but she couldn't help doubt that she would ever be happy again.

"Please," he added. "I've seen too many people come home from battle only to turn self-destructive, or worse, because they don't address their needs. I don't want to see that happen to you."

She simultaneously preened in the rays of his heartfelt concern and diminished like a photophobic, unable to shake her self-doubt. "Why?"

"Because... I'm falling in love with you."

She blinked once: okay, not a dream. "Why?"

"Because you do things like ask 'why?' when someone tells you they're falling in love with you, silly girl!" He looked like he wanted to either shake some sense into her or ravish her. She reflected that she probably needed both, but otherwise didn't know how to feel. The proud witch wasn't finished being amazed that she and the ferret were actually getting along. Luckily, the arrival of yet another house elf she didn't know saved her from having to answer at that moment.

"Master Malfoy!" The elf croaked. His voice sounded strained, like he was talking through a kazoo. "Mister Harry Potter and Mister Ronald Weasley here to see you, sir. They say it is an emergency."

Hermione was suddenly filled with dread. She felt Draco tense, but his voice remained calm, "Bring them here."

The elf popped away, but did not return immediately. She assumed they were being escorted on foot. Draco put his hand on hers and squeezed it briefly. "Drake, I—"

"I didn't ask a question; I answered one. Stop thinking so much, baby doll." He gave her a pat on the head one might bestow upon the family dog. She giggled, but regained her composure as Harry and Ron walked briskly in.

"Your father escaped from Azkaban," Harry said the moment he entered the room.

"What? When?"

"A few hours ago from what they can tell. Evidently they thought he would be coming after me so I was informed straightaway." Harry and Ron were both looking at Draco. He was still seated but looked like he was out for blood, his fists clenched painfully.

"Er, you alright there?" Ron asked him. Harry looked at his best friend like he might have just gone crazy. Hermione was not overly shocked. Ever since they had brought Ginny back, the two men had some strange truce going on that she didn't think she would ever understand.

Draco just shook his head.

"Do you have any idea what he might want?" Hermione prompted the statuesque blonde.

"Probably to flee the country, go into hiding. He'll come here to get gold or valuables to barter with." Malfoy looked up as a thought occurred to him. "It's not safe here. You have to leave." His eyes became afraid for the first time, looking at Hermione.

"We're not leaving you alone," Hermione said and watched his agitation grow.

"You stubborn Gryffindor! This isn't school! There's nothing here worth dying for!" he shouted at her as he stood up, knocking over his chair in the process.

"Gryffindor is more than a house; it's a way of life," she said proudly, hands on her hips. "Maybe if you knew what was worth dying for you wouldn't have lost everything you cared about!" Draco was glaring daggers at her, clearly not used to his friends standing up to him. _Well you can get good and used to it,_ she thought to herself. "YOU, you idiot! YOU are worth dying for!" she said, resisting the urge to bop him on the head. "What here is worth you dying?"

His face abruptly turned to concern as it concentrated on one thought. There was one thing left he cared about after all. "My mother," he whispered, and was turning to leave the room when they heard a high pitched scream.

He looked back at her. For a moment she saw his desperate plea to go and keep herself safe, just before he turned into a cloud of thick, black smoke that flew out the door and crashed through a window.

Hermione ran towards the sound of breaking glass. She didn't have to search long; he had broken through a window right near his bedroom that lead out to a large courtyard in the back of the manor. She called a charm that slowly let her down through the second floor window-turned-gaping-hole and started running the moment she hit the ground.

The scene she found was dreadful. Lucius, looking worn and unkempt, was standing with his wand drawn at one end of the courtyard while Draco stood, Elder Wand in hand, at the other. Narcissa Malfoy was standing slightly to the side but only a few feet from her son. Her back was to Hermione, and she saw that the witch she had so keenly avoided during her time at the estate was shaking.

Hermione heard Harry and Ron running up behind her. They stopped and the group slowly moved toward Draco. Lucius did not even notice them. His eyes looked crazed, and his head twitched as if trying to alleviate a transitory crick in his neck.

"So it's true," the man said, speaking directly to his son. "The all-powerful wand of so many legends has come to the Malfoy family."

_Crap,_ thought Hermione.

"Crap," hissed Harry.

Ron grunted.

The older wizard's voice was eerily calm given his jerking head. It sounded exactly as it had that day he was talking down his nose at Hermione's parents in Flourish and Blotts. "Too bad it's come to the _wrong_ Malfoy." He raised his wand.

"No!" Narcissa screamed again, stepping in front of her son.

Lucius was taken aback. "You dare defy me woman? Step aside!" Narcissa did not move, or speak, or give any indication she had heard him. "Oh, I'm not going to hurt him!" he almost wined.

Did Lucius know what it took to claim ownership of the Elder Wand? Hermione wondered. He clearly didn't know his son was not its true wielder, but Draco had not made any indication otherwise.

"STEP ASIDE!" He began to stride towards her, and she drew her wand. He stopped. "How dare you point your wand at me! You swore to honor and obey!"

Narcissa's tiny voice rang true, if small, across the dewy grass. "Lucius... you're not yourself. Come inside and let's discuss this." Hermione thought this was a bit of an odd request at this point, but he actually seemed to consider it. A moment later, however, he flicked his wand and Hermione saw the smallest hint of something shiny flying out of it towards his wife. She collapsed on the ground, struggling for breath as she clawed at her neck. Draco moved to help her but was immediately fully occupied with blocking the spells his father was sending at him.

Cold crept down Hermione's back as the witch writhed on the ground. She ran towards her, falling to her knees at the spot she had collapsed. There was a thin metal wire that was choking Narcissa and cutting into the woman's pale skin. Hermione pointed her wand at her, and Narcissa's eyes grew even wider. _"Finite Incantatum!"_ she cried, but the wire remained in place. Instead, the dark highlights in the witch's hair slowly faded to blonde. Had the situation been less dire, Hermione would have rolled her eyes.

Malfoy appeared to notice her for the first time at her words. He glanced at her and then back at Draco. His tirade of spells ceased, but his eyes grew more crazed and furious. "And what filth have you let into our home, you perfunctory child?!"

At those words, Ron sent a stinging hex at the senior Malfoy. The man just barely blocked it, but finally took notice of Ron and Harry who were standing nearby. He turned once again to Draco. "You are no son of mine," he snarled.

His hate filled eyes turned back to Hermione, who was too busy trying to help the ailing Mrs. Malfoy to get her wand up in time. Luckily Draco had jumped in front of her. "_Protego!"_ His shield poured from his wand, absorbing the spell his father had sent at her. _"Expelliarmus!" _

Unfortunately Draco's father shielded from his disarming spell and the hate she saw turned murderous.

"_Ferrous Protego!" _Hermione whispered, and she and Narcissa were enveloped in a metal cage that protected them from the storm of spells flying around them. _"Finite Incantatum!" _she tried again. The bright red on Narcissa's lips faded to pale pink. Twice more Hermione tried and failed to help the struggling witch. How many cosmetic enchantments could one person use? She briskly took the wire, which had begun to draw blood, between her fingers. She pointed her wand at her arm, using it as a conduit: _"Engorgio!"_

The wire started to enlarge, and Narcissa was able to breathe again. Eventually the loop was loose enough that Hermione could slip it over her head. Her reunion with air served to drive panic into the woman's mind. She started crying hysterically, but got up to go to Draco. Hermione pulled her down, holding her firmly as they watched the battle rage around them.

Though Malfoy sent vicious spells at his son, the latter only blocked or tried to disarm, apparently unwilling to mount an offensive against his father. Ron and Harry were not so disinclined and were sending back to Malfoy as good as he gave them.

Since he was only blocking spells, Draco had remained stationary. The other two were running, jumping, dodging, and ducking in between getting off spells of their own. Malfoy seemed to be ten times faster than them. He was blocking and on the offensive at the same time while remaining in place. Hermione grew increasingly uneasy as the man's superhuman abilities manifested.

"Enough!" he screamed. Ron and Harry froze where they were. Hermione looked to see Draco was panting heavily but uninjured. Malfoy had apparently let at least a few of Ron or Harry's spells through, as he had a nasty gash across his leg and a boil forming at the end of his nose that served to make him look even more atrocious. His vision zeroed in on his son.

"I feed you, clothe you, shelter you, and love you all of your life and this is how you repay me? Throw away the values this family has stood on for generations? And all for what? This filthy mudblood?" Draco was silent. Hermione could only assume, based on the next curse he threw at him, that Lucius did not like whatever expression his son was making. The younger man was not fast enough to block it. _"Crucio!"_

Draco collapsed instantly, writhing on the ground in pain. She remembered the spider that fake-Moody had tortured in their fourth year, and all she could think was _why isn't he screaming?_

Ron and Harry renewed their assault, but Lucius was still blocking them while casting the cruciatus curse. He had to be insane or drugged—or both—for she knew the cruciatus curse should have required all of his concentration. A full minute of her friends' best stunning, binding, blinding, and otherwise incapacitating spells did not faze Lucius. She knew Draco could not endure this much longer.

The once graceful man did not let up, apparently determined to torture his own son to insanity. Hermione took one look at Narcissa, who was sitting on the ground staring blankly into the distance, and dispelled the cage around them. "Stop it!" she screamed at full force, hoping to draw the man's attention to her. It worked. His vicious eyes turned slowly to her, and he raised his wand, and gathered his power. _Son of a—_

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

* * *

Hermione didn't feel any different. She had squeezed her eyes shut, but she thought she could still hear the ambient sounds of the grounds of the estate.

She cracked one eye open, then the other. Lucius Malfoy lay splayed out on the dark green grass. His eyes were staring lifelessly upwards. She looked at the two that remained standing. Ron was giving Harry a stunned sort of look. Harry still had his wand pointed at the dead man and was staring in shock, his chest heaving.

It was Harry's killing curse she had heard, not Lucius'. Harry—whose heart was pure like gold with love that flowed like water, who would not use more than a disarming charm to save his own life, who used luck and tricks of fate so he would not have to kill Voldemort and tarnish his soul forever—had killed to save her life.

Harry turned and ran towards her. "Harry—" She didn't know what to say but wanted to cry for him.

"Yes we can all mourn my eternal soul later. Ron, go to St. Mungo's and request a Healer," Harry said, then as a second thought, "… and a coroner." Ron ran back into the manor to use the floo as Harry crouched down next to Draco.

"Malfoy can you hear me?" Harry said. Draco did not respond immediately.

She was still partly in shock, but looking down at Draco was like a slap across the face. He was splayed out on the ground much like his father, eyes closed. Parts of him were still twitching.

Hermione fell to her knees, stroking her fallen friend's silky soft hair. "Drake, please don't leave me." Panic had given way to despair, and she periodically choked out a sob. Harry left them, and she rested her head on his chest. The sound of his beating heart calmed her. A few minutes later, she felt his arm move to her back. Her head popped up, and she saw his gray eyes trying to focus on her. "You came back to me."

"I still owed you a Knut," he said with a dopey grin.

She laughed and kissed him quickly then helped him sit up, and they held each other until Harry called for her. Draco stood up shakily with her assistance. His movements were stiff and jerky, but his face didn't betray any pain. They eventually reached Harry, who was sitting with Narcissa Malfoy.

The woman was completely still and staring across the field. Hermione blocked her view of her now dead husband, but the woman still didn't move. She put her hands on the older woman's neck to heal the angry red mark the wire had left. The witch didn't even flinch.

"Mother?" Draco said quietly, crouching down in front of her. "It's okay; we're safe now." His words had no effect on her. A moment later he raised his hand and slapped her hard across the face: no reaction. He tried to help her stand up, but she kept collapsing back to her seated position on the ground. "I think she's catatonic."

Harry looked at Hermione before raising his wand. _"Expecto Patronum!"_ A brilliant blue light shot out of its tip and coalesced into Harry's Patronus. It looked at Harry intently, stretching its nose out towards him as if asking to be petted. "Ron, request a mental health consult as well," Harry said, and the stag went bounding off through the forest like heat lightning dancing in the sky.

"Your Patronus is a stag?" Draco's ghost of a voice reflected surprise.

"Yes, why?"

"Just curious."

They sat in awkward silence, all watching Narcissa Malfoy for any spark of sanity. Ron arrived with a group of people in white robes, and another healer in green she hadn't seen before. She secretly wished they had sent Andrell to help. The man knew so much about them all, and lives could be lost during extensive explanations.

"I have to go. Severus is awake," Harry said and abruptly shot off across the green.

The healer started performing tests on Narcissa, who remained rigid and unresponsive.

The group that had come to tend to Malfoy had him on a stretcher within moments. A man who was clearly making a report took notice of the ripped fabric over his chest. He peered in his tattered shirt, and Hermione could hear the surprised gasp when he saw the tell-tale mark above his heart. Hermione had seen it too. The characteristic lightning shaped scar mirrored the wand movements used to cast only one spell: the killing curse. At least Harry had the sense to aim at the man's center of mass and not his bloody forehead.

They got the body covered and were taking it away. Hermione dreaded what was to come; she knew it was legal to use the curse in life or death situations. Harry would still have to explain his actions, and she didn't want him to have to go through that.

Sighing, she turned back to the trio seated near her. Draco only had eyes for his mother, and his mother only had eyes for—whatever it was her unfocused gaze saw. The healer continued to wave a wand at Narcissa. The wand was clear glass and had a blue helical stripe painted onto it. Hermione thought she recognized this as the wand Andrell had used on Snape the first night he was there, and then she saw a regular wooden wand in the healer's other hand. "What's that?" She pointed at the blue striped wand.

"This is a diagnostic wand. It calls a hundred spells at once so I don't have to use them one by one. She needs to be admitted. Her treatment could take some time," the healer said after completing her tests.

Draco spoke with panic. "No, she should stay here. She doesn't feel comfortable outside the Manor."

The healer turned kind eyes on him. "Son, you haven't lost your mother; she's just lost her way. I know you want to help her, but you can't. I promise I will do everything I can for her."

With tears in his eyes, he shook his head.

"At least come and look at our facilities, and let me tell you about our program. It really is an amazing place, or I wouldn't be working there."

Draco fixed Hermione with an uncertain look. She nodded her encouragement.

"Alright."

They got up. The healer let Draco try to move his mother alone at first, probably with the intent of showing him how difficult it would be to care for her on his own. She then conjured a stretcher and helped him lay her on it. Narcissa was still resisting being moved. Her new caretaker pulled out a small vial and tipped it down her throat. She started to relax, and finally laid flat on the stretcher.

"Feel up to taking us to St. Mungo's?" the healer said brightly, trying to bring Draco out of his stupor. "Fourth floor patient intake."

"I don't know," Draco said.

Hermione gently pushed him away from the stretcher, which she grabbed hold of along with Narcissa's hand. She turned on the spot and apparated herself and the ill woman to St. Mungo's. Now Draco could follow with the healer or take the long way, but she for one was tired of standing in the cold.

* * *

The fourth floor was quieter than it had been in the last week. She floated the stretcher near the desk, suddenly realizing she did not even know the name of the healer that had been helping them. Luckily Draco did not decide to take the long way. He and the healer popped into existence where she had been standing a moment before.

"Evening, Maude, got another one for us?" the receptionist at the desk asked. The healer motioned for her to be quiet as she escorted them towards the back. She had Hermione bring the stretcher into the first exam room and transferred Narcissa to the bed there. The potion she had given her had knocked her out cold. She shut the curtains, plunging the room into darkness, and closed the door as they left.

Maude gave them a tour of the facilities. She showed them an unoccupied patient room, which Hermione thought looked very cozy. Draco blanched at the sight of it. They followed the green robes into a small room with cooking facilities and a few round tables with chairs. She also showed them the group session room, and a common room where several patients were playing games or reading. None of them were screaming in psychosis or bouncing off the walls. Hermione thought that was encouraging.

They returned to Narcissa's room, pausing outside so the healer could talk to them. "We will let her sleep, then observe her to see if she comes out of this state on her own. She's not a danger to herself so potions are a last resort; they are safe but very powerful and quite shocking to the body. But we will use them if she doesn't show more awareness within twenty-four hours. You have to understand this is for the best. She needs constant medical supervision right now. Catatonia is a very serious condition."

Draco nodded. "And after she's herself?"

"Talk therapy to find out what caused this, and how to prevent it from happening again. Possibly more potions if they will help. These wouldn't be as strong, though." The healer considered them both. Draco was not meeting her eyes. "It would help if you could tell us what happened. Is she prone to mental instability?"

"Yes," he said.

"For how long?"

"As long as I can remember."

Hermione, who had been holding his hand since he arrived, tightened her grip.

"And what happened tonight that sent her over the edge?" The healer spoke in hushed tones, though there was no one nearby. The receptionist had presumably gone to run some errand.

Draco didn't answer.

"I know your father died," Maude prompted him gently. "Do you think that was it?"

He still didn't answer, so Hermione spoke up. "His father was trying to kill Mrs. Malfoy and then started to torture Draco. Our friend killed him to save my life." She tried to remember the details of the event. "I believe it was once Lucius cast the cruciatus curse on Draco that Narcissa started to become so unresponsive."

Maude's head snapped back to look at Draco the moment she mentioned the curse. "The cruciatus curse?" she hissed. Draco eventually nodded. "Son, we should have someone look at you, too."

"I'm fine," he said immediately.

Maude gave him a look that screamed 'liar liar pants on fire,' but Draco was not looking at her to receive it. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw another healer approaching from the hallway she knew led to Professor Snape's room.

"My, my we lead an exciting life," Andrell said.

Hermione was relieved to hear that voice. It still held adoration, but he had always remained professional, and seeing him felt like seeing an old friend at the end of a difficult journey. "You have no idea."

Andrell took one look at Draco and put his arm around him, squeezing his shoulder. "In the name of science, I demand this boy!" he said dramatically, then paused to look at Maude, "Er, unless he has any paperwork to fill out?"

"It can wait."

Hermione reluctantly let go of Draco's hand as he was escorted off. She was confident that Andrell would treat and take care of Draco, possibly without the younger man even noticing.

Maude was sizing her up. "You know Andrell?"

"He's treating our friend, Professor Snape. He's also on this floor."

"You know Severus Snape?"

"Yes." She grew uncomfortable as Maude continued to stare at her. "I think I'll just go and check on him now, unless you need me for anything else?"

"There is some paperwork; any family member can complete it."

"I'm not family."

"Oh." Maude, who had been confidently in her element until Andrell had showed up, now fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Very well, off you go then."

Hermione nodded and turned around, walking with purpose to the end of the hall to check on Harry and their erstwhile Professor. She glanced in the rooms as she went, trying to see where Andrell had taken Draco, but had no luck. An hour ago she had been complaining that her life might get boring. Now Draco had lost his father, been tortured, and had his mother go crazy.

She opened the door to Snape's quarters slowly, immediately seeing that it was dark. Harry held one finger up to his lips. She nodded, and took a seat in silence. She scribbled a note to Harry asking if he was okay. He wrote back, "Talk later."

She wanted to wait here for Drago, so she transfigured one of the rigid chairs in the room to look like Harry's recliner. It was not terribly comfortable, but she lay back, closed her eyes, and drove toward a fitful sleep with a sigh.


	10. In the Family Name

**Author's Note: **Thanks for the R&R! =-D

**Warning: **Mature content. Reader discretion is advised.

* * *

Chapter 10 — In the Family Name

* * *

Severus woke and sat up with a start, immediately regretting it. Pain pounded at him everywhere and he closed his eyes until it ebbed. He tried to lower himself back onto his bed, but quickly realized that was painful, too. He tried a bit of wandless magic to raise his bed up to him, but the pain caused by moving his arm made him freeze. _Gah, I'm pathetic._

"No, you've been injured. There's a difference," Harry whispered as he moved to prop the bed up and help Severus lay back down on it.

"Why are we whispering?" he asked. Harry nodded his head across the room, where Hermione was sleeping in a chair. "What is this, a hotel?"

"We had a bad day, and she didn't want to be alone," Harry said. Severus couldn't glean any information of what this 'bad day' had entailed from Harry's thoughts. He was impressed in spite of himself.

"I see." He tried to feign indifference, adjusting his blankets, examining his cuticles, and drumming on the bed's side support while gazing out the window. Eventually he gave in. "And what was so bad about this day, might I ask?"

He could tell from Harry's sudden apprehension that something had indeed gone terribly wrong. The first image he caught confirmed this: Lucius, of all people, staring at him with his wand drawn. The barely sane look on his old friend's face chilled Severus to the bone. It only got worse. Next he saw Cissy collapsing to the ground in front of a horrified Draco, apparently unable to breathe. The images overflowed from Harry then, along with thoughts, feelings, and sounds.

Severus was slightly more prepared to be on the receiving end of Harry's stream of consciousness this time. It was nearly overwhelming, but he was able to process everything he saw and felt. The last feeling, which stayed with Harry as an ever-present ache in his heart, was fear. Harry had tried to be brave for his friends, but he really was terrified that he had defiled his soul forever by killing Lucius.

If only Dumbledore were here. Curse the man for having the gall to go and die!

He tried to think of something comforting to say, but his thoughts always strayed back to one: how useful could any words of comfort be coming from a Death Eater?

_'_Former_ Death Eater.'_ Before he could retort, Harry shook his head minutely, and then Severus heard Hermione waking up next to him.

"Oh I'm sorry! I only meant to close my eyes a moment!" Hermione jumped up like the chair had bitten her and changed it back to its original shape.

"It's fine Hermione," Harry said.

"How are you?" She stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking between Harry and Severus.

Harry looked at her through squinted eyes. "We're doing alright. How is Malfoy?"

"Oh please don't call him that!"

"Amazing bouncing ferret?"

Harry could see Severus bristle out of the corner of his eye, but the older man did not say anything.

"Whatever, just not Malfoy. I hear that name, and I think of his father. And I have no idea how he is. I haven't seen him," Hermione concluded, still clearly exhausted.

"How is Cissy?" Severus asked.

"Are you two close?" The witch said delicately.

"Yes but you don't need to sugarcoat. I assure you it won't help anyone."

"She was still completely unreachable when the healer came. She gave her a sleeping potion, and they will know more when she wakes up."

"Which sleeping potion? At what dosage?"

"Er, I'm not sure. I didn't ask."

Severus felt his patience dwindle. For an insufferable know-it-all she knew precious little about the things that really mattered. Any further thought was interrupted by a mental slap upside the head from Harry. _'Ow!'_

'_Be nice!'_

"I'd like to speak with the healer assigned to her case," he said as pleasantly as he could through clenched teeth.

Hermione didn't reply. She got up quickly and left the room. Harry followed up his mental slap with an actual slap upside the head. "Will you stop that?!"

"You have no idea what she's done for you and what she's been through in the last few days alone! You could be a little nicer."

"Have you forgotten that I'm your cruel, sinister potions professor? I don't do nice!"

"You're not our professor anymore. I'll slap some nice into you yet." Harry was hovering mere inches from his face. He spoke with a calm intensity he had only seen in the boy's mother before now. It didn't help that he was seeing her eyes too. Before he could stop it, an image from a distinctly adult fantasy involving Lily flitted to the front of his mind. "Augh!" Harry said, nearly gagging as he staggered backwards.

Severus quickly quashed the vision. "It may surprise you to learn that I am human," he said.

"I know you are, but that's my mother."

"You didn't even know her!"

"Thanks for the reminder." Harry sat on the edge of the bed, still holding his stomach. Severus was saved from having to reply by Hermione's return.

"She'll be here in a minute. Andrell is coming too."

Sure enough a moment later his robust healer strode through the door, a nurse in tow. "Well, well, how is our patient doing today?" Andrell said, stopping in front of his bed. The proximity of his wild hair made him uneasy.

"You asked me that earlier."

"Oh good, our memory is intact then!"

The nurse presented him with a row of potions which he took without question, and Andrell waved one of his curious glass wands at him. Hermione was watching his hand move like a dog eying a treat.

"You'll down a handful of potions without asking what they are but insist on knowing everything about Mrs. Malfoy's treatment?" Harry asked with amusement.

Severus glared at him. "Did you learn nothing in my class?"

Harry held out his hand with thumb and index finger held very close together. "Leeeetle bit."

"I can identify these by sight and smell alone. If by some miracle there was something I didn't recognize, I would ask."

"Oh right. Good thinking." Harry nodded smartly.

"What is that?" Hermione asked, indicating the wand Andrell had just set down. Severus had been wondering about the object himself.

"It's a diagnostic wand. It holds spells for us to use virtually all at once. Lifesaver, really." He twirled it around like a baton. Severus was intrigued, as he had never heard of such a thing. Evidently so was the witch.

"That's curious. Have you been using them for long?"

"No, just a few years. Intern of mine came up with the idea. Polly made hundreds before she left. Brilliant girl, wish I could have held onto her. You remind me a bit of her, actually."

"Brilliant," Hermione echoed.

"Well you are coming along well. I'm curious about the incident at the Manor though. I understand Harry was away from you for quite some time. Did you feel any pain?"

Severus didn't even remember the boy being gone, but knew he had to have been there based on the memories he had seen.

"Severus was asleep. I felt—strained—but not unbearably so. I was pretty much going on adrenaline at that point anyway."

Andrell nodded. "Well that is excellent news!" He clapped his hands together loudly. "Just as soon as you can keep each other out of your own minds, you should be able to sleep in your own bed, Harry!"

Severus was surprised when Harry didn't jump for joy at this pronouncement. In fact, he looked… crestfallen.

"On that note, I've sent Draco home for the day. He needed some time alone." Hermione's head perked up at the mention of Draco's name. "Though I'm sure a visit from you later would be well received, Miss Granger. In the meantime, I am not above begging for your take on some of my research."

Hermione blushed and nodded before following him out, Andrell already talking excitedly to her.

Severus and Harry sat staring at each other. They had had little time alone when one of them was not also asleep, and it was proving to be an awkward experience. "So," Harry said, "Come here often?"

"No of course not. What kind of stupid question is that?"

"Professor Snape?" A woman called into the room from the door which she had barely cracked open.

"Enter."

"I'm Healer Maude. I'm in charge of Narcissa Malfoy's case." She shook hands with both men in the room. "I understand you have some questions for me."

"Yes," Severus hissed.

"Please sit down." Harry said kindly, pulling up a chair for her.

"Thank you I'll stand. I want you to understand that her son has expressly authorized me to speak with you about his mother's case, otherwise I would not be able to discuss this with you at all."

_What does she want me to do, kiss her feet?_ Severus thought impatiently.

'_Ahem! Nice!'_ Harry thought back at him.

'_Get out of my head!'_

'_You get out of mine!'_

The healer was looking at them uncomfortably.

"Of course." Severus said.

The healer looked at Harry. "And you are?"

"Oh, I'm Harry, ma'am. Harry Potter."

Her eyes immediately darted to his forehead. "So you are. And your relationship to Mrs. Malfoy?"

Severus interrupted anything Harry might have to say. "It's complicated, but Harry cannot leave my side and would find out anything I'm thinking anyway. He is also capable of the utmost discretion." Severus felt Harry swell with pride.

"Very well then. When I arrived at Malfoy Manor Narcissa was non-responsive and resisted being moved. I administered Sentinel's Sleep in order to move her safely to St. Mungo's."

"What dosage?"

"Full dosage: eighty-seven minims. She was not a danger to herself, so when she wakes tonight we will observe her before trying other methods to bring her out of her current state. Andrell has obviously not discussed the nature of your condition with me, but if he says it's alright for you to be there..."

"I would like that."

"Very well, I will speak with him. Do you have any other questions for me?"

"No," he said and waived her away dismissively.

"Thank you!" Harry called to the woman's back. "What happened to nice?"

"Nice was a figment of your imagination. I'm grumpy, dammit!"

"Okay fine. Would you care to translate that conversation to English?"

Severus suspected he was just trying to prevent him from wallowing, but if Harry asked for a lecture he would certainly get one. "Sentinel's Sleep is a sleeping potion—"

"Like dreamless sleep?"

"Yes and no. Dreamless sleep may sound nice, but we use dreams to sort through everything that's happened to us during the day. We suppress what our brain deems insignificant and catalog anything that might be useful for easy access. If one doesn't dream for too long they will become easily confused and agitated, perhaps even hallucinate, and their memory will fail them.

"Nightmares may be unpleasant, but they are vital. They allow us to process our anxieties so that they don't overwhelm us when we are awake. This potion limits the time spent in each phase of sleep to that which is statistically optimal. It's also quite useful in that it ensures the sleeper doesn't remember his or her dreams, nor physically react to them while they are asleep.

"The dosage is based on weight and must be meted out very precisely. At full dosage, one will sleep eight hours. At half dosage one would sleep four hours, a quarter dosage two hours. That is the smallest it can predictably be broken up into."

Harry watched him intently while he spoke, and Severus could practically see his brain soaking up the knowledge. His lack of pain and a captive audience made him feel content for the first time in ages.

"Why is it called Sentinel's Sleep?" Harry asked when the older man did not continue.

"It was invented during a time of great civil unrest in Istanbul. Several watches were understaffed and the local potioneer created it so that the sentinels could get as restful a sleep as possible when they only had a few hours downtime."

"I sure could have used that fifth year," Harry said with a snort.

"Perhaps, but it's extremely difficult and expensive to make, and, though premature awakening is nearly impossible, it can cause long term brain damage. Furthermore, it can be highly addictive and completely lethal if brewed incorrectly."

"Yeesh."

"Indeed. '_Yeesh_.'"

Harry laughed at Severus' repetition of the noise. The corner of the older man's mouth twitched briefly, but otherwise he did not permit himself to join in the revelry. _'Why do you make everything so hard on yourself?'_

Severus thought a moment, but could come up with no other answer then _I don't deserve to be happy_ and he certainly didn't want to tell Harry that. _'What do you want me to do, dance around naked with a tambourine?'_

"Well that would be a start, and of course you deserve to be happy."

He let out an exasperated sigh. "Get out of my head!"

'_You get out of mine!' _

They both cleared their thoughts.

Existing in this state was much easier than before but meant they could not do much else.

_'__Thank you for what you said earlier.' _Harry said to Severus via his thoughts. He was blushing slightly, eyes downcast as if he was too embarrassed to look at him.

_'__What did I say?'_

_'__That I was capable of the utmost discretion.'_

_'__It's a factually accurate statement, why it should be—'_

_'__Oh please don't ruin it with logic.'_

_'__Ruin it with logic? That's the most absurd thing I've heard in ages.'_

_'__It's just… we've never really talked.' _Harry said hesitantly,_ '…about _this_,' _he gesticulated vaguely from himself to Severus.

Severus wanted to reply with sarcasm. He wanted to dismiss what Harry had said. Ignore it. Ignore him. But, after all that had happened… Harry deserved better than that. _'I…' _Severus foundered.

He looked at Harry, then. Really looked at him. He still had the slightest tinge of a blush on his face, sitting in a chair, eyes cast downward.

He was thin.

Very thin.

His clothes were mostly clean but ragged, probably as a result of having been on the run for so long. He thought then about what Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been through, and what it must have cost them. How terrified Harry must have been at the end.

Severus did something then that surprised even himself. He put one finger under the boy's chin, and brought his head up to look at him.

"Thank you, Harry," he said, not even embarrassed at the tear running down his cheek, "…for saving my life."

Harry looked surprised, then pensive, then brought his hand to hold Severus's, tears filling his eyes. He looked like he started to say something, but then changed whatever he was going to say to, "You're getting very sleepy." Severus had learned not to contradict the boy's sixth sense for his sleepiness, though how he knew Severus was about to pass out before he himself knew was beyond him.

"Amerfuggle wagoo," Severus mumbled, already half in dreamland.

"Quite right," Harry agreed, and the last thing Severus felt before oblivion was the younger man lowering his hospital bed to lay flat.

* * *

Hermione bade farewell to Andrell after spending hours in his lab. She had to admit she was impressed. His "nerve tonic" turned out to be a groundbreaking potion he was working on to reverse the damage caused by long term exposure to the cruciatus curse. After the war there were more and more people in need of such treatment.

In between stepping out to check on patients, the healer spoke at length about other projects he was working on, all of which intrigued Hermione from the start. He evidently had a thing for younger witches as, from how he spoke of her, Hermione gathered that the man had been involved with his former intern. However, he remained pleasant but professional and listened to her input, so Hermione found she rather enjoyed his company.

The witch poked her head in to check on Harry before she left for the night. It was quite late, but he was still awake and gave her a brief thumbs-up over his sleeping charge. She waved goodbye and shut the door tightly before disapparating to the manor.

Now that Narcissa was away there was no reason for her to continue to take Draco's bed, but for some reason the idea of sleeping farther away from him was even more frightening than before. Still, she had to find Draco before she could find out what he wanted to do, so she slowly let herself into his sitting his room. There were no lights on, but a generous helping of moonlight shone in through the open window. Draco was once again in the circular bed which was tucked in the corner just to the right of the entrance.

Hermione heard a faint whimper and automatically sat down with the fitful slumberer, softly rubbing his arm until his breathing returned to normal. She watched his angelic face periodically contort with pain, and continued to sooth him back to a restful sleep every time he needed it. Eventually the witch pulled up an over-sized chair.

She was just starting to doze off when she thought she heard a faint whisper. After breathing as quietly as she could for several minutes she was about to conclude it was her imagination until she heard Draco speak into the clear, quiet, moonlit night: "Hermione," he whispered, "please stay with me."

After a moment of hesitation she went to lay on top of the covers next to Draco, seeing faint tear tracks down his face. "Shh it's okay. I'm here." She held him tightly. He fell asleep on her shoulder as she was arguing with herself. _This is nothing I wouldn't do for Ron or Harry! _

Ever since Draco's confession she had been trying to sort out her feelings. Of course he was undeniably attractive in mind and body, and of course she had grown incredibly fond of him in the last few days, but she had no closure with Ron. She was certain she could never completely trust the temperamental redhead again, but she hadn't told him that, and he deserved at least that much. Besides she was just trying to comfort a friend. _Dammit he said please!_

Eventually she was able to fall asleep. When she woke just before dawn it was to discover that someone had kicked the covers off the bed. Her arm was just barely touching Draco's. The temperature had dropped overnight and the open window was making her shiver. Apparently still asleep, Draco turned on his side to face her and put his hand on her lower back, pulling her tightly against him.

Hermione forgot to breathe. She felt a tightness in her chest and an aching warmth in her groin that made her whimper. Her head swam with desire, and she clamped her eyes shut before she passed out.

She willed herself to relax, trying to enjoy the feeling of his proximity on a platonic level. It mostly worked. When he woke, his grey eyes held so much confusion and sadness that her desire evaporated in an instant, replaced again by concern. "I'm sorry," she said.

"Why are you sorry?" He said as he reflexively masked the pain in his eyes.

"I just—you were—I didn't—nevermind."

He smiled at her, kissed her forehead, and got up to head to the bathroom.

She stayed in his _other_ bed while he was away, rolling over to lay in the warm spot he had vacated and fanning her hand out on the sheet right next to her face. She inhaled the scent still lingering on the sheets.

She reluctantly sat up when he returned and sat down with her. She tried to pull her head together. If she was going to help him get through whatever was plaguing him, Draco needed to come before any of her useless confusing feelings.

"How are you?" she asked.

He was looking down at his finger which was tracing figure eights on the bed. "Worried for my mother."

"Would you like to see her today? She should be awake now."

He nodded.

"Andrell said I should warn you: they'll want you to make funeral arrangements for—"

"Let him get eaten by wolves for all I care," Draco snapped.

Andrell had also warned her to expect that answer. "Is that really what you want? What your mother would want?" She let him mull that over a moment before continuing. "Drake, your father was very ill and possibly heavily drugged when he—did that to you."

"He was always a fan of Peruvian Blue."

"From what you told me he was using heavily when Voldemort was staying with your family. When he was sent to Azkaban he would have been going through excruciating withdrawal: hallucinations, mental confusion, severe agitation... And then using again when he got out—it's possible he was not even sane. I'm surprised he was able to grasp onto the concept that you had the Elder Wand, though how he found out—"

"My mother told him. She had gone to visit," he said, and she looked at him askance. "It's the only way he could have known."

Hermione nodded. No wonder the woman had gone crazy: she had provided the information that led to Lucius torturing his son.

She tried another approach. "You were proud at one time to be your father's son. Mourn the loss of _that_ man if nothing else, and let your mother mourn too."

"Why do you defend him? I don't understand you."

She scooted closer to him before she spoke. "I just want to make sure you and your mother have the chance for closure. You only put him in the ground once, and I don't want to take the chance you might regret not doing it in twenty years.

Draco looked doubtful but agreed.

* * *

Hermione showered and dressed quickly, and they had breakfast in silence. Her furtive glances didn't note a change in his demeanor, and they got up in unison to go to the hospital when a house elf's sudden arrival stopped them.

"Master Malfoy you have a visitor at the front door!" the kazoo-elf huffed. She made a mental note to find out the tiny creature's name.

Draco looked mildly alarmed. He gave her a deeply meaningful look that was completely lost on her. He held out his hand and escorted her through the hallways at a brisk pace. The foyer was surprisingly bright. She had never seen it before, and she realized she had never heard of anyone arriving at the Manor through the front entrance.

The ornate door swung open to reveal a tall man with dark wavy hair and a long angular face. He looked to be in his early twenties. The sun had started to peak through the clouds, which gave his tanned skin a surreal back-lit glow. He had a denim backpack thrown over one shoulder, and he was wearing a t-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops.

"You must be Draco! I'm your cousin from California." The man, who had the enthusiasm and accent to match, thrust out his hand towards her stunned companion. The blonde shook it uncertainly. "My name is Castor—Castor Riddle."


	11. Grave Reconnaissance

**Author's Note: **Thanks for the R&R! :}

**Warning: **Mature content. Reader discretion is advised.

* * *

Chapter 11 — Grave Reconnaissance

* * *

"You must be Draco! I'm your cousin from California." The man, who had the enthusiasm and accent to match, thrust his hand towards her stunned companion. The blonde shook it uncertainly. "My name is Castor—Castor Riddle."

A string of expletives flew through Hermione's head. Draco just stared at him with wide eyes. She managed to recover first. "Er—won't you come in?"

"Oh thanks!" Castor said while flip-flopping his way into the entry, side stepping a still speechless Draco. Hermione tugged him inside and closed the door. "Sweet digs, man!" Castor was looking curiously down the hallways.

Hermione elbowed Draco. "Thank you."

"I'm Hermione Granger," Hermione extended her hand, which the wizard shook with a bob of his head.

"Nice ta meet ya! Are you family too?"

"No, I'm a friend of Draco's. I didn't even know he had a cousin." She found it easy to keep her tone cheerful, as Castor maintained the enthusiasm of a treasure hunter in a new cache.

"I didn't know I had a cousin either... until I got the letter!"

"Letter?" Draco finally spoke.

"Yeah! From my father—my birth father—to be sent to me when he died. Sorry if you were fond of him. I never knew the guy." Castor spoke while rummaging in his bag then producing said letter. "I just had to come here and meet you all. I'm awfully jet lagged though!"

"Jet lagged?" Draco asked.

"Oh! I forgot. Pure-bloods rule, death to muggles and all that. Ehhh." He made a cross with his two index fingers, screwed up his face, and leaned away from them. "I'm not fond of apparating so I took a plane… and a bus, and another bus, and a cab… boy you guys are hard to find."

"You took a plane?"

"Castor means to say he is tired from his trip. Perhaps we should prepare accommodations for his stay," Hermione told Draco. "You will be staying with us, of course?"

"Dude that would be awesome!"

"Oh, right. Bear!" The kazoo-elf popped up in front of Draco.

"HOLYHELL!" Castor screamed, while dropping his backpack and flailing around a bit. Evidently they don't have house elves in America.

"Will you prepare the red room for Master Riddle?" Bear bowed respectfully and disapparated.

Their guest mouthed the words "Master Riddle" to himself with delight.

Draco gestured down the center hallway she knew led to a staircase. He escorted Hermione and spoke with Castor who was walking on his other side. "You seem to have brought the weather with you," Draco said, evidently deciding small talk was his safest bet.

"I do that a lot! It's like I never leave home," the man said whimsically.

"Where in California are you from, Castor?" Hermione asked.

"San Diego. Best of the best in the west."

"Oh I've heard it's lovely there."

"That's an understatement! Never had a reason ta leave until I heard about you all."

"You've never left the States?" They had reached the third floor and turned down a dark corridor.

"Not until now! Sure is quiet here. Where is everyone?"

"They're out," Draco said rather shortly.

They walked in silence to the far end of the Manor. The red room was aptly named. The walls, the drapes, the bedspread. Even the spines of the books in the glass-inlay cases were some shade of red.

"Make yourself at home. Bear will assist you should you want for anything while you are here," Draco said stiffly. "Just call his name."

"Bear!" Castor yelled, and the house elf appeared with a loud crack on the bed in front of him. "Holy shit it worked!"

Draco and Hermione exchanged glances. "We have a few errands to run, but we'll try to be back soon."

Castor nodded his head. "Thanks man! Great ta meet ya both!" He shook their hands again and they left him alone to explore his newfound crimson haven.

After they were an appreciable distance from the door, Draco called Bear. The house elf eagerly received his orders to keep an eye on their guest and to get Draco if he saw anything out of the ordinary.

Apprehension clearly lit his features as he held out his hand to her and apparated them to St. Mungo's.

* * *

"Miss Lovegood, I really think they are gone now."

Severus tried to hold his temper while the blonde witch danced around the room spraying all of the corners for frocknuts—whatever those were.

As word of Severus's role in the war had spread, a steady flow of gifts from admirers started arriving. Certain of Harry's friends took it upon themselves to deliver their well wishes in person, and the infernal boy had threatened to sing the Weird Sisters to him for lullabies if he wasn't civil to them.

"Just one more!" she said. His room now smelled vaguely like rotten cabbage mixed with fall. "Okay I'm finished!"

"How kind of you."

Harry and Ron were sitting at the round table in the room rehashing the most recent massacre of the Hollyhead Harpies by the Chudley Cannons with great bravado. Due to Draco's absence, Harry's training had not progressed. Every time he tried to teach the younger man himself, Severus would get vertigo and have to stop, so he sat hearing Harry's thoughts, the boys' conversations, his own musings, and Luna's singsong voice all at the same time.

He was able to keep his own thoughts well-schooled, and Harry had a one track mind when it came to Quidditch, so the morning was not altogether unpleasant. If only he wasn't twice as old as any of his companions, perhaps he wouldn't feel so profoundly out of place.

'_And here I thought I was helping you stave off loneliness.'_

Severus ignored Harry's unwarranted comment, but the strange tiny blue dragon that had taken up residence on his shoulder let out a plume of smoke as it bobbed its head. Luna's pet had immediately hopped and flapped his way over to Severus when she came over to give him and Harry a hug.

"He can sense feelings; he thinks you are lonely," Luna had whispered to him with a sad but knowing slow blink.

Severus had to admit he was immediately fond of Blue, and, once Luna finished tidying up his room and sat down on his bed, she was more than happy to tell him all about the curious creature.

The two sets of conversations were punctuated by the arrival of Draco and Hermione who both looked like they had seen a ghost.

Luna hopped up to give them both a hug before announcing, "You've both just had an experience."

Draco looked at everyone in the room. When his eyes fell on Severus he said: "Apparently I have a twenty-one year old cousin from California. He showed up on my doorstep this morning with a letter to be delivered upon his father's death. His name is Castor Riddle."

Severus' heart spasmed as everyone turned to look at him. "I knew nothing about this," he said somewhat defensively. "You have reason to believe his story?"

Draco took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. "He is definitely family. The wards recognized him as such. He could not have gotten past the front gate alone otherwise."

"But do you think he could really be a—a Riddle?" Harry's gulp was audible from across the room, and the young group once again looked to Severus for an answer.

"I don't know, but I suppose it's possible."

"Who would want to go to bed with _that_?" Ron bit out, his disgust palpable.

"Oh, Ronald..."

"Who says they went willingly?" Draco asked.

"And carried a baby to term? I don't think that's likely." The redhead still sat at the table, periodically looking at Harry.

"Yes because we don't know anyone that was so feverishly devoted to Voldemort as to border on worshiping him as a god." Hermione unconsciously clutched at her left arm as she spoke.

"Bellatrix?" Luna's questioning tone was soft as she scratched under Blue's chin. He had evidently felt the tension rise in the room and frantically sought shelter in his mummy's lap.

Ron's next words surprised everyone. "Well, it would make sense, especially for a bloke so obsessed with contingency planning. I mean, what's the next best thing to immortality?" He paused, looking as if they should all be shouting out the answer. Instead he was met with confusion and some shaking heads "Children! Look, Voldemort was the _last_ heir of Slytherin. What if the whole immortality thing didn't work out for him? Would he really take the chance of letting the Slytherin line die out?"

Severus nodded. "Mister Weasley is correct." A sentence he had never uttered. "I don't know why I never thought of it before."

"Well, even if he had procreated, someone would have known about it. If Bellatrix was pregnant, someone would have seen, right? Certainly her husband wouldn't approve?" Harry asked the room.

"People have done far more heinous things in service of the Dark Lord than let another man go to bed with their wife," Severus said.

"My mother would probably know. I do remember her saying no one noticed she was pregnant until a few months before I was due." Draco's voice sounded hollow.

"And if she was showing only slightly it would be easy to hide. And when she did need to disappear, if the Dark Lord said she was on a mission, no one would have even questioned it."

"You mother might still know something, or have suspected. She is her sister," Hermione said.

Draco nodded. "I'll ask her when I can speak with her."

"I can also perform a test to determine if Bellatrix is indeed Castor's mother. I'll just need a bit of his hair." The girl's normally bossy voice was apprehensive.

"Well you're good at stealing people's hair, Hermione. You go get it." Harry winked at her.

"What I don't get is why was Castor sent away? Why wouldn't Voldemort parade around his heir?" Ron asked.

"It would have made him a target, too," Draco said.

"More likely because he would not have wanted to share power. Castor was only to find out his lineage if Voldemort died," Severus pointed out.

Blue was now completely hiding under Luna's skirt. He appeared to be tickling her with whatever he was doing, since the witch periodically squeaked as she spoke: "Harry you said that Voldemort was—eek!—ashamed of his family name. So if he—heehee—really wanted to hide his heir, what is the last—ooh—surname in the world anyone would think he'd use?"

"Riddle," Harry answered while nodding his agreement.

"And where is the—heeheehee—absolute last place in the world anyone would think he'd send him?"

They all answered in unison: "America."

"Oh Blue stop that!" She yanked the tiny dragon out from under her skirt, placing him on her shoulder where he promptly hid in her hair.

"Alright but why's he here? To finish dear old dad's noble work?" Harry asked.

"I don't think so." Hermione pulled an antiquated piece of parchment from a small bag on her hip and passed it to him. "The letter he received doesn't say much, and I think it was the first correspondence he'd had from—his father."

Severus unfolded the stiff paper. He recognized the Dark Lord's jerky handwriting at once. That more than anything brought home the reality of the situation. It was dated just a few days after Draco's birth and told him specifically to seek out his cousin.

"What's more," Hermione continued, "Dumbledore said it himself: magic, especially dark magic, leaves traces. Castor had absolutely no trace of dark magic on him. I checked. He makes the rest of us look like... dementors."

"Who are his adoptive parents? Is he still living at home?"

"We didn't get much chance to speak with him; he was tired after traveling..." Draco looked at Hermione for help.

"He took a plane here—muggle transportation. Apparently he doesn't like apparating," she said.

"Or he's not very good at it."

Ron snorted. "Well that would be embarrassing if the heir of Slytherin turned out to be a squib. I'd ship him to America too."

"I don't think so. He had plenty of trace magic. He might just not be terribly confident, and remember the culture is different over there," Hermione lectured him with a frown.

"Yeah it's like an entirely different country. Ow!" Ron recoiled when Hermione started flogging him with her purse, which made strangely deep thudding noises as it struck its mark.

"Anyway," she continued once Ron was out of reach, "He's resting now. Due to the time difference he likely will be asleep for several hours. We'll be able to ask him more when he wakes up."

"Yeah like 'Say, have you tortured any muggles lately?'" Ron was wisely hiding behind Harry now.

"I told you he hasn't used dark magic."

"You don't need magic to torture people. Where's your sense of creativity?"

"Just because his father was a dark wizard doesn't mean he will be. He didn't even know his father!"

"'Sins of the father', Hermione. You've said yourself traits are inherited. It's only a matter of time before he turns." Ron sounded miffed.

"Traits like hair color... ear shape! Even if behavioral traits are inheritable there is no guarantee they will manifest in the same way, or even at all. People still have free will. Voldemort grew up in an orphanage far away from anyone who could possibly understand him. It sounds like Castor had a family that cared for him."

"Great, even Voldemort made sure his kid was better looked after than I was," Harry said grumpily.

Severus saw the most peculiar memory flit to the surface of Harry's mind at that moment. His uncle was yelling and shoved him into what appeared to be a cupboard. Severus made a mental note to ask Harry about it later.

"Yeah and if that's your argument, Harry should have slaughtered half the school by fifth year."

"Thanks, Ron."

"Always looking out for you, mate," Ron winked.

"The point is—"

"The point is he's the only… relatively sane family I've got left. I, for one, am not about to give up on him. If you'll excuse me I'm going to see my mother." Draco turned on his heel and left the room.

"Draco's right." Severus spoke quickly. "We have no reason to believe he is anything but what he says he is, and we should not give into paranoia. Miss Granger, will you perform the test you spoke of as soon as possible? It's in Castor's best interest to know for sure who his birth parents are as well."

"I can do it now. Wikket!" Severus stifled his surprise to see a house elf he recognized as belonging to the Malfoy's pop up next to Hermione. The girl crouched down to speak at her level. "Has our guest been causing any problems?"

"No Miss, he's still asleep."

"Oh good. Could you go pull a few hairs out of his head?"

"Hairs, Miss?"

"Yes, and bring them to me, please."

"Of course Miss." Wikket popped out of sight.

"Thank you." Hermione said to the empty air.

Luna got up and started to drift towards the door. "I think I'll see if the fifth floor has pudding and go check on Draco."

Hermione looked as if she might object, but ended up just stepping aside to allow the girl passage.

"So you really think Castor is alright?" Harry asked Hermione as soon as Luna had left. The witch just nodded. "And there's no way you can verify that Voldemort is his father?"

"Not without some bit of him," she said morosely, looking at Severus.

"I know of no other way," he said, "but that does not mean a way does not exist."

"I'll—"

"—go to the library," Ron and Harry finished for her in unison.

"What about his father's father? Could you confirm he was Castor's grandfather?" Harry asked.

She nodded. "We would need to exhume his remains, assuming we could find them."

"I know where they are," Harry said. Severus had been too caught up in his own thoughts to pay attention to Harry's. He now saw flashes of what had happened in the cemetery the night Voldemort came back. It was nothing like Lucius had described, the man having boasted to him about being present for the Dark Lord's return to power at every opportunity.

The last image he saw was Harry's parents coming out of Voldemort's wand. Seeing the vision of Lily without warning nearly rent his heart, and they were soon both struggling to control their emotions. He wanted to offer some words of comfort to the boy, but again nothing came.

Harry's friends were apparently used to him needing stretched out moments to collect himself, as they waited patiently for him to continue.

"Little Hangleton. That's where the tri-wizard cup took Cedric and me."

The house elf known as Wikket popped back in and handed Hermione something.

"Thank you, Wikket. Did you wake him?"

"No, Miss. Wikket was most careful." She bowed graciously.

"Excellent job!" She bent down to hug the elf who looked slightly uncomfortable and disapparated the moment she was released.

Hermione went over to the table and muttered a sanitation charm over it. She pulled two empty vials, a stoppered bottle, and a parcel out of her bag. She unwrapped the parcel to reveal a rimmed tray containing a plane of clear agarose gel.

She then sanitized the two vials, placing the hairs Wikket had brought her in one, and a long dark hair she had pulled from her purse in the other. A drop from the bottle was added to each vial making them foam and sizzle, and Hermione upended them into narrow rectangular depressions in the gel.

She pointed her wand at the opposite end of the tray and appeared to be pulling the solutions she had made through the clear substance. They were periodically leaving dark bands behind as they moved through the medium. Once she was done she compared the two tracks and proclaimed, "Bellatrix is Castor's mother."

"Okay, let's go to the cemetery so we can run the other test. Better to get this over with before you have to talk to him again," Harry said. Hermione nodded, wrapping up the tray and placing it back in her bag with the other supplies.

"You sure that's a good idea, mate? How far is the cemetery?" Ron asked, looking between Severus and Harry.

"It's not much further than Malfoy Manner. If I'm in pain I'll come back straightaway." Harry was looking at Severus, his statement was more of a question. _'And I'd like to see how this works when I'm far away.'_ Severus nodded.

Ron and Hermione both took hold of one of Harry's hands. He turned on the spot and they were gone in a blink. He immediately understood what Harry had meant by feeling 'strained.' He felt like someone had grabbed his brains with a hook and was trying to yank them out through his ear. Strangely, it was not painful, but he felt the pressure of it build and assumed pain was not far off.

'_Can you hear me now?'_ He heard Harry think at him as clearly as if he was in the room.

'_Yes, and you?'_

'_Perfectly. How are your brains?'_

'_As you aptly described, they feel strained.'_

'_Brain strain,' _Harry said knowingly._ 'Tell me if it hurts you. It never started to hurt me, but I came back when you were waking up last time.' _

He could pick up thoughts and sounds of what Harry was experiencing. The boy was focusing on his task at hand rather than dwelling on the past, which made the emotional overflow minimal. He saw an image of the overgrown cemetery Harry stood in, and Riddle, Sr.'s moss-covered gravestone. The sound of leaves and twigs crunching was strangely sharper and the feel of the enveloping fog strangely heavier than he knew they would have been to him.

Harry shivered as Hermione floated bones out of the ground and into a heavy canvas satchel which disappeared into the same little bag on her hip.

'_This feels different,' _Harry thought, ghosting his hand over Riddle's gravestone. _'I think someone else has been here.'_

'_It's a graveyard, of course other people have been there.'_

Harry's mental himming-and-hawing indicated he was not convinced. _'Maybe. I'd like to ask around and see if anyone else has been talking about the Riddles. Small town, big gossip. Maybe someone knows something.'_

'_You are far too recognizable. If there are any wizards there…'_

'_I'll use Polyjuice potion.'_

'_I'm beginning to think you've developed a habit.'_

Harry chuckled. _'I'm sending Hermione back to start on the test. Ron and I will be back soon.'_ The boy's thoughts became pleasantly cloudy.

Though they were unable to _block_ each other out, they had learned to _tune_ each other out, much like one could ignore a nearby conversation or radio program.

_'Did you just call me white noise?' _Harry asked with feigned indignation.

'_No, no. Grey noise at least._'

Hermione entered the room a moment later looking rather grim. "Did everything go as planned?"

"Yes, I just don't particularly like grave robbing innocent people."

_'Tell her Voldy's father was a wanker.'_

"It is regrettable this task has fallen to you." His attempt at sympathy was ignored.

Hermione transfigured the table in the room into a long skinny metallic table that was rather taller than the original. She pulled out the canvas bag and began floating out the hundreds of bones, one at a time. After an hour she had a full skeleton organized on the table, with one notable exception: it was missing its left femur.

"Harry said to expect that. Apparently Wormtail used it in the ritual to raise Voldemort." The witch answered his unspoken question.

"I see."

Wand in hand, Hermione pointed it at each of the vertebrae in turn. As far as he could tell, she had adapted muggle technology that he was only vaguely familiar with to perform her tests. She looked disappointed when she reached the end of the spinal column. "What exactly are you looking for?" Severus asked.

"I need a sample in order to run electrophoresis. I was hoping there would be some remaining tissue on the bones but it has all decomposed. I'll have to grind down some of the bone itself until I can find enough material. I was just hoping to avoid any destructive testing."

The witch pulled a mortar and pestle from her bag after rummaging around for a full minute. She set it on the table and gingerly plucked a tiny bone from the skeleton's foot. "Is there anything you don't have in there?" he mused.

"My sense of human dignity."

She began furiously beating and grinding the bone to a pulp. He could not avoid analyzing her overzealous technique, and he looked up to see angry tears in her red eyes. "Allow me," he said. He took her work and began to gently grind up the material. The action made his arm ache, but it felt good to be useful.

"Thank you," she said, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve.

"I simply did not want you to contaminate your sample," he said dismissively, but couldn't help feeling happy when she seemed to calm down.

She sat quietly for a while as Severus continued to grind the bone to dust. The methodic grinding was a familiar sound to relax to, and Hermione seemed to be lulled by it as well, for she laid her head down on the table.

"I'm going to have Wikket sew handkerchiefs up all of your sleeves." Draco's sudden arrival startled Hermione, and he handed her a red cotton square from behind. "What's wrong baby doll?" He asked under his breath, his chin nearly touching her shoulder.

"Oh I'm just being silly. Are you alright?" Her eyes were dry immediately, and she was fawning over Draco a second later.

Severus rolled his eyes and ground a little harder. _You're just jealous old man._

It took him a moment to realize the thought had originated from himself and was not Harry berating him.

From what Draco said, Narcissa had come out of her catatonic state on her own. She was refusing to talk to anyone, including her own son, except to tell anyone that would listen that she wasn't going to talk to anyone. Her healer had assured Draco that this was progress.

"What have you been up to?" Gray eyes peeked over her, noticing the skeleton on the table for the first time.

"Paternity testing."

"Oh fun," Draco said.

"Oh dear," Severus said. He had gotten a wisp of jumbled thoughts from Harry, just moments before him and the redhead stumbled through the door. Draco and Hermione jumped out of their way.

"Great Aunt Tessie!" Ron squealed going to hug the table full of bones, but Draco held him back. He and Harry collapsed to the floor in a fit of giggles.

"Oh dear," Hermione echoed.

"She called me dear! Teeheehee! Shhh—don't tell the ferret!" Ron's voice was pitched high as he cackled. His head shook unstably as he tried to hold his index finger up to his mouth, but ended up poking it up his nose.

"Schtuff it, Ginger. You know I'm the only one you'll ever love." Harry slurred terribly as he lunged at Ron, knocking him over. The two rolled on the floor trying to beat each other senseless, or perhaps undress each other. Severus could not tell which.

Hermione cleared her throat loudly. "You boys were meant to be asking after the Riddles in Little Hangleton, remember?"

"Oh!" Harry said, trying to pick himself up. Hermione continued to glare at them, which left Draco to help Harry to his feet and hold him at arm's length to steady him. "Oh yes. We did that, we did that." Ron nodded vigorously having managed to get himself standing all by himself.

"And?" the witch prompted.

"Well _apparently_ there is nothing to do in the town exchept go to the pub—"

"To The Hanged Man!" Ron shouted enthusiastically, toasting the air with an empty hand.

"To The Hanged Man!" Harry echoed, and toasted Ron back, "—so we thought well 'when in Rome' and all that. So we went over there, and—um—what was I talking about?"

"You were finding out if anyone knew about a Riddle showing up around the time Castor was born?" Severus prompted, though his patience was not entirely feigned.

"Oh yes! You are—just—so—awesome." Harry held out a hand towards Severus as he punctuated each word with a slight whimper. "And they hadn't heard anything." Harry's pout was highly exaggerated and his words sounded whiny.

"That was tragic, but they were SO NICE though." Ron's eyes had grown wide with reverence as he spoke.

"Yes, so nice, mmm." Harry half-mooned his eyes and swayed slightly back and forth a moment.

"That's all?" Hermione said pursing her lips.

"Hmm? Oh! Well they were _just so nice _so we did some more re-cog-nizzance for the—cause—and all. Erm, turns out someone else had come inquiring about the Riddles just a few years ago!"

Ron leaned hard against the metal table, shoving it into Hermione's breast bone. Harry took her whimper of pain as excited surprise.

"That's what I said!"

"Who?" Severus asked.

"That's what an owl says!" Ron exclaimed.

"Who was asking about the Riddles?"

Harry's eyes grew wide. "Dunno! _I _wasn't in the pub a few years ago; I was in the schmemetery getting cut up by the man that had me orphaned, 'member?!" Harry said with something akin to panic.

"I mean did you get a description?"

"Oh!" He sat down heavily on the hospital bed, looking between the older man and the bone dust. "Don't sneeze!" He laughed at his joke. "They said she was strange. I mean black. I mean her hair was black! And pale—her skin was pale—and skin colored. She was short and—ah—_curvaceous_. She gave her name as Anna? They all said she was _really_ nice." Harry's eyes were completely glazed over as he nodded with a dopey grin. Ron had plopped down on a chair, falling asleep with his head back.

"This is done," Severus said, handing the mortar back to Hermione.

She sealed it and put her supplies away. "I think I need more room to work," Hermione said as she looked disparagingly at the two inebriated personages in the room. Bones were being floated back into her canvas bag and the table returned to normal when Ron was jarred out of his slumber.

"Huh?" He looked around. "Bye Aunt Tessie! Oy c'mere a sec." Ron slurred at Draco, grabbing him by the sleeve and pulling him into the hallway.

Hermione had finished packing and cleaning. The boys were only in the hallway a moment before Severus heard shouting.

"I don't have it anymore!"

"That's not the word on the street." Ron said mockingly, but Draco did not reply.

The blonde stepped into the room a moment later taking Hermione by the elbow. "Are you ready?" He asked her gently, though the previous conversation had clearly agitated him. Hermione just nodded, and they disappeared a second later.

Ron entered afterward, red-faced, followed by Luna. "They had pudding!" she said. Blue was perched on her right arm and appeared to be licking at a blob of chocolate in her hand. "Ron you don't look well."

"I'm—hiccup—fine."

"Oh my. Come with me. Daddy has a million hangover cures."

Ron let the girl lead him out of the room and down the hallway, presumably to floo to her home in Devon.

"And then there were two." Harry gave Severus a sidelong look, and then turned to face him. With amazing agility Harry abruptly pulled himself to sit astride Severus, resting his weight on his legs and his arms on either side of him.

Harry's face was flushed and pleasantly unfocused. The edges of his thoughts became tinged with desire as he leaned minutely into Severus. "Potter," he said warningly.

"Don't call me that!" Harry abruptly sat back. "That name is everything you hate. I don't want you to hate me anymore! I didn't even know him. I'm sorry for what they did to you—for what he did to you. I _hate_ him for what he did to you!" His voice was sad and angry. The hopeless green eyes blinking at him made Severus want to keen.

"It's okay," Severus said awkwardly.

"No it's not okay! Even if you stop seeing him when you look at me you'll start seeing her. You'll never just see me—"

"You need to rest."

"I want you to see me."

"You are sitting on top of me; I assure you I see you! I see you!"

Severus thought he saw a tear streaking its way down Harry's cheek before he hid his face with his hands.

"Harry," he said and reached out to pull the younger man's hands down. "You need to rest." His voice was firm, but he pulled Harry towards him gently. Severus let his bed down flat, feeling less pain with each passing hour, and slightly expanded it.

The messy hair and shaky hands moved without resistance as he laid Harry next to him. Evidently Harry's newfound calm had come at the expense of dealing with his feelings, a concept Severus was only too familiar with. "Rest," he repeated. Harry's dozing eyes were fighting to stay open but he eventually gave in. Severus took off his wire rimmed glasses and set them on the table.

The boy's spinning thoughts started to calm as Harry passed into sleep, and then into dreams, but his dreams immediately became violent.

"_Kill the spare,"_ he heard Voldemort hiss, and then watched Pettigrew snuff out Cedric Diggory's life without a second thought.

He watched Pettigrew plunge his knife into Harry's arm, then saw Harry and Voldemort dueling, four spirits emerging from his wand as before. He watched enraptured as Lily spoke tenderly to her son.

The nightmares continued. Severus shivered to think of what Harry might have seen in his own dreams. He put his hand on Harry's head gently, surprising himself with the sudden protective feelings he was having. Not like before, when his actions were simply of loyalty to his mother, but actual feelings… towards _Harry_, he marveled, but decided to analyze it another day.

He whispered a blessing over Harry. It might do nothing, but it made him feel better, and he thought he detected the slightest easing of tension in his face as he lay staring at him, somewhat in wonder.

Severus focused on clearing his head and relegating the fitful nightmares to the back of his mind, praying for patience, or guidance, or a miracle. He would need all three.


End file.
